The Study of Development
by SparkRevolutions
Summary: When the U.S.S. Enterprise gets a resident anthropologist, Spock finds himself wanting to learn more. Spock/OC. Feedback appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

"You ready for the seminar?" Kirk asked his fellow and doctor, Leonard McCoy. The doctor flared his nostrils lightly and shot him a look, stacking papers and sitting them down neatly on a desk. "I hear there's a real lady giving it." Kirk finished, with a smirk.

"Oh, be quiet Jim." McCoy responded in his usual, irritable way. "You probably don't even know the name of whoever's lecturing. And besides, it's supposed to be this great anthropologist. Yeah, if they're so great, why haven't I heard of them?" Not to mention, they'll be part of the crew now, something about surveying new planets." Jim looked at McCoy quizically. He could be irritable, but never this bad. McCoy ran his hand through his hair anxiously, got up, and walked to the door.

"What's eating you?" Jim asked, and McCoy laughed callously.

"What's eating _me_?" He asked in response. "The entire medical staff is running goddamn _amok _because of this shit. All for one person, who I've been told 'won't be such a hassle'. We needed to clear and entire floor just so that they can have a damn set of skeletons to look at and compare to other damn skeletons."

Jim gave him a look, as if to say, _that's not __**entirely**__ terrible._ They walked across the bridge in silence, then got onto the turbo lift. Commander Spock was already waiting for them.

"Great, the hobgoblin." McCoy muttered and Jim elbowed him. Spock was stoic, perhaps even honorable, and McCoy hated him. Perhaps for his intellect, perhaps for the sheer humanity displayed by his alien nature. McCoy could not put a finger on why he so immensely disliked Spock, but something made his blood boil every time he saw the Vulcan.

"It appears we will get a new crew member." Spock said in a conversational monotone, staring ahead as he was always accustomed to doing. Jim smirked again at what appeared to be the Vulcan version of small-talk.

"What's the name?" McCoy asked, straining to be civil. It was just so difficult, he always was so damn condescending all the time. Maybe that was what it was.

"Lesley Ray." Spock replied, in that stagnant tone. Jim's brightness faded a bit. _So it could be a man or a woman._ "An anthropologist."

"As if we didn't know." McCoy snapped as the turbo lift doors slid open. He pushed his way through Jim and Spock, and took a seat in the relatively small conference area. Jim and Spock sat a few seats away from him.

"Must be his time of the month." Jim mused, and Spock looked at him indifferently, in the stone-faced manner he usually had.

"That is highly illogical, Captain Kirk. Males of the human race do not-"

"I **know,** Commander. It was a joke." Jim said, and couldn't help but roll his eyes. Sometimes talking to Spock was like talking to a brick wall. He could see how the irascible McCoy would get fed up quickly.

The room was rapidly filling up with people. Cadets and senior officers alike sat in the room, eagerly holding pamphlets and waiting A few oblong metal crates sat near the viewing screen in the front of the room. Every seat had been filled up now, and amidst the talking, Spock heard the gentle swish of the doors openings. The anthropologist and a general walked in.

The three males and everyone else in the room quieted down and looked at them. Doctor Lesley Ray was a tall woman, with blond hair contained in a messy ponytail She wore a blue Starfleet shirt with black pants, the usual uniform for officers specializing in science. Spock observed her to the tiniest detail, as he did with everyone. She held a PADD, and nodded at the general, who appeared to be giving her a quick briefing. Her eyes moved shyly to the three males, and Spock could faintly hear their names being mentioned. She nodded once more; the general left. She turned to her audience and gave them a light, if somewhat pretentious smile.

"Hello," She began her lecture-voice, a voice that was quiet yet demanded the attention of the audience. "My name is Doctor Lesley Ray. Today, I will be giving a lecture on anthropology."

Her opening was simple, but as she progressed, it was evident that she was very intelligent. She had synced the PADD with the display screen, opened one of the metal crates, which contained a skeleton. She propped the skeleton, especially wired for this lecture, up near the screen.

"And one of the fundamental elements is the observation of tiny unconformities within skeletons of different races. For instance, this is the skeleton of and average male human. Now," She touched the PADD and a picture of two skeletons appeared on the screen. "The skeleton on the right is the male skeleton-Charles, I call him-" She turned to the audience and half-smiled as they laughed airily. "Sorry. Gallows humor. And the skeleton on the left is an average female human. If you look with a discerning eye," Lesley focused in on the pelvic regions of both skeletons. "The female has a wider pelvis, suggesting that she has given birth at least once. The male, obviously never having given birth, has a narrow pelvis. Also," She continued, zooming in now on the wrists of both skeletons. "The female has a larger bone structure on the left side than the right, while Charles over here was evidently right-handed."

She concluded her speech by informing the audience that she would be located on the floor above the medical wing for the duration of the five-year mission, if anyone wished to know anything else. There was a short silence, then applause, started by Captain Kirk. She smiled at the audience, and after they began exiting she started to pack up. The three maleswaited until the room cleared, then walked up to her.

"Hello, Dr. Ray," Captain Kirk started out. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk." He took her hand gallantly, and she shook it. "My colleagues, Commander Spock and Doctor McCoy." She smiled at the furious McCoy and shook his hand, to Spock she simply nodded. He gave her the salute, and she returned it.

"Please, call me Lesley. There's no need for formalities." She said quietly. Spock stared, not directly at her, but a bit to the side. A feature that he didn't notice before were her eyes. They were wide and blue and seemed to be illuminated from the inside. It was a bit unnerving for Lesley. She knew about Vulcan culture, but had never spoken to one before. Although he was half-human, she hadn't met anyone as seemingly complex and foreign as the Commander.

"In that case, call me Jim. He's McCoy or Bones, whichever." Captain Kirk offered. she smiled, putting "Charles" away. "So, I guess you were briefed about us, huh?"

"Yes," She replied, turning off the screen and the PADD. "Were you told about me?"

"Yeah." McCoy finally replied, speaking his first word to her and sounding royally pissed off about it. She turned and looked at him curiously, a gesture that highly amused Spock.

"We had to clear the whole upper floor of the medical wing for 'Charles'." He said, dumbing-down his tone when he said the skeleton's name. Spock saw her eyes narrow slightly, and she started toward the door.

"Hm. The general informed me that it was only storage." She responded, not even bothering to look in his direction. If Spock could've laughed he would have. A few cadets came in ad moved the crates for her. "Thanks." She murmured.

"Would you like to eat dinner with is in the officer's mess tonight?" Jim asked before McCoy's fist connected with his forearm. "I mean, you do have a pretty high rank, it wouldn't be unusual, and your quarters are on the bridge too."

"Sure," She said, and waited at the door until the cadets went through with the crates. She was a woman of little words, she seemed to be trying to figure out their personalities. Lesley knew of Jim Kirk, because honestly, who didn't? The great captain who had saved the Earth, and who would also, coincidentally, flirt with anything with a skirt and a pulse. There was Leonard McCoy, the foul-tempered, loose-cannon doctor. Yet for the life of her, she could not analyze Spock. There seemed to be almost no human in him.

She exited the room, and could hear the trio walk out behind her. Lesley refused to let her posture sag and show how tired and jet-lagged she actually was.

"Miss Ray?" A voice sounded behind her. She turned to see Spock, the enigma. "Would you need help locating your laboratory and quarters?" He asked. Lesley nodded, noting his posture-stiff as a board, hands behind his back, feet spread slightly apart. He walked over, and they were separated by a gap of at least three feet.

All at once, Lesley felt an immense attraction to the Commander. She couldn't help it; those exotic foreign types always caught her eye.

"I enjoyed your lecture," Spock said in his usual tone, jarring her out of her thoughts.

"Oh, thank you." She said, turning to look at him, her whole face alight. He stared ahead. She was an impressive woman, and Spock did desire to know her better, but she was very human.

"We will be working closely together. I admire your knowledge."

There was an awkward silence. Lesley didn't really know what to say next, he had shook off her reply before.

"Thanks." She said again, feeling like a broken record, then glanced over at him for any sign of emotion. If she seemed grateful, he did nothing. If she was quiet, he did nothing. Obviously, Lesley couldn't win. They walked in silence to the turbo lift, and waited as it carried them to their destination.

Upon arriving, the bridge was large and pristine and amazing. It was such a bright white that her retinas screamed and she had to squint a bit in order to see. Her quarters were on the other side of Spocks', and her heart fluttered a bit when he showed her. _Ridiculous._ She chided herself. _Getting a little school-girl crush on the Commander. Shame on you._ She unlocked the door with the security code, then walked into the room. The room, although clean and nice, was about the size of a walk in closet. There was a small lavatory and closet on the west wall, in the center of the north wall was her bed and a night-stand, a bookshelf, armchair, and coffee table were on the east wall. A small replicator was to the left of her bed, her luggage had been moved into her room. She unpacked all of her clothes and books, hanging them neatly and stacking the books in alphabetical order on the shelves.

After a time of sitting exhausted in the armchair, she went into the bathroom. Fearing what she would see, she finally looked into the mirror.

Her hair was akin to a bird's nest, she had deep dark circles under her eyes.

Because she couldn't do anything else, she laughed. What would she do, cry?

_No, there's been enough of that. _She thought, grabbing her hairbrush. She took out her ponytail, considered herself once more. Her hair was long straight (currently tangled), and hung about three inches past her shoulders. Still stifling some giggles, she began to brush her hair, and she began to remember.

"Hey Lesley, I have a question." William said. William Marcus was the most handsome boy in the fourth grade. At least, he was to Lesley Ray and every other fourth-grade girl.

Lesley brushed light blond hair behind her ear and grinned. Then, she wore it in a short little ponytail, and her thick glasses with the mint-green plastic rims. Lesley could remember everything about that day. The way the spaghetti smelled in the cafeteria, the navy-blue cardigan her mother had bought her for Christmas, her brown school shoes, not too badly beaten-up. Even what William Marcus wore: clothes that were nicer than hers, but for some reason her nine-year-old self couldn't identify that.

"What?" She asked, as flirtatiously as a nine-year-old could manage, looking up at him from her library book.

"Why are you so damn ugly?" William Marcus asked. Lesleys' face fell as the whole cafeteria erupted in laughter. She took off her glasses to wipe them off, and soon they were batted out of her hands. Lesley had terrible vision as a child. A few mean-spirited kids got their hands on them, and by the time she put them back on, a large crack spliced the images she was seeing out of her right eye. To top it off, William pushed his lunch tray into her, now the white blouse under her cardigan was splattered with red sauce. Lesley grabbed her book and ran to the bathroom, fighting off tears until she found a stall of her own.

She didn't come out until her mother was called. She walked hand-in-hand with her mother to the principal's office, where the whole incident was explained. The last thing she remembered about that day was getting a new pair of glasses.

Junior High was worse, a few malicious girls wrote her a fake love note and she ended up alone on what was supposed to be a date with the ever-popular William Marcus. During High School, she learned her lesson and kept her mouth shut, keeping her grades high and choosing not to attend any school functions. She graduated as the Valedictorian and was accepted to the best college her family could got numerous jobs in her field, and eventually raised enough money to get eye surgery and improve her vision.

"That was a long time ago." Lesley said out loud, to no one in particular. She looked in the mirror again. Her hair was free of tangles but her face was red and blotchy from crying. Perplexing how these little things had such a profound effect on her. She washed her face, then put up her hair again. The air hit her skin, the water left a bit of a sticky residue on her face. Crossing the room, she got a book and opened it, sat down in the chair. She closed it after skimming, put it back on the shelf and sat silently. Her mood was almost reflective, and consequently she found herself remembering again.

Her mother had gone to Julliard, Anna Marsson had come from a wealthy family. Lesley almost shared these memories with her mother, Lesley asked so many times when she was younger about how her parents met. Each time she listened as if it was the first time she'd ever heard it, her eyes big and shiny as she sat on the sofa next to her mother.

Anna, after graduating with a major in piano, met George Ray in a bar during her graduation party. The began dating and later married. George was then an officer for Starfleet.

Along came Lesley, and when she was two, George had to go out on a five year mission.

Lesley's early childhood was a mash of different occasions, she could faintly remember her father, when they collected shells on a pristine beach of Maine.

"You see these, little Lesley?" Her father asked. "These are remnants." He held up a sand dollar for her to see and he shook it. It clattered, and she laughed, delighted. "Now you keep this. Otherwise, it'll get forgotten." He placed it gently in her hand.

Her mother laughed and the family walked along the shoreline. Anna was a lovely blond, with big, blue eyes. It was no wonder why George had fallen in love with her. His love didn't come without a price, however. Disgusted at their daughter's unwealthy intended, Anna's parents disowned her.

George did not come home again until Lesley was seven, and even then, it was only a two-year leave. She cherished all the time she could with her father, he helped her with homework, or the played chess, or he told her stories about his missions.

That was the last she saw of her father. He went on a ten-year mission this time, and when Lesley was fourteen, her father died.

She could remember that day so clearly as well.

Her mother was sitting at the piano, just starting out a Debussy piece. Lesley washed the lunch dishes; it'd been a Saturday. Sun filtered in through the window above the sink, illuminating the entire kitchen. The family wasn't rich, but they were happy, living in a tiny house about a mile from the beach in Maine.

The phone rang.

Anna stopped playing, Lesley began to dry the dishes. There were a few steps taken upstairs.

"Hello?" Anna asked into the receiver. She trotted down the steps and went into the kitchen.

"What about my husband?" She asked again, and Lesley looked at her mother as she spoke.

Lesley could not forget what happened next.

"_What_?" Anna asked, her voice strained. The color had drained completely from her face. She nodded slowly. "Yes, Commander. Thank you." Anna said, then hung up the phone. She sat it down on the table, and was silent.

"Mom...what's the matter?" Lesley asked. Then, softer. "Momma?"

"Lesley, your father died this morning. He was in his quarters and choked on a raisin. No one knew until noon." Anna replied, then buried her face in her hands.

Lesley dropped the plate she was holding. It shattered into thousands of pieces on the linoleum. Ignoring the mess, she went out into the hallway, and the tears only started falling once she passed the revered sand dollar, still in a popsicle-stick frame made in kindergarten. Lesley ran out the door, and down to the beach.

She sat in the sand dunes, and didn't return until it was dark outside.

Lesley's little escapade into the past was interrupted by a chime at the door.

"Come in." She called, her voice a bit raspy. She cleared her throat, looking expectantly to the door as it slid open.

Commander Spock stood tall and imposing in the door frame. She felt her heart melt a little, then sat straighter in her chair.

"I warrant that you have had enough time to organize your belongings. It you wish, I will show you to your laboratory." He told her, staring straight ahead at the wall.

_Damn, he's efficient,_ She thought., but nodded. He turned and walked out and she soon followed suit.

Again, even walking with him was enough to make her insides feel like they were colonized by insects. Stealing a quick glance at him, she spotted his ears, and saw how different they were, but also, in a way, how fascinating.

Spock, walking down the hallway, used this as a time to reflect. He usually did this while meditating, so that his rather pesky human side could not get the best of him., but he needed to practice some self-control. And since the new doctor was here, he wouldn't be tempted to go into a rage in front of her. There were just so many things that sometimes could nnot be meditated away, that he thought he'd purged but kept revisiting him.

"Hey!" He could remember nausea as a group of classmates assaulted him. "Hey!" He yelled again, desperate and louder this time.

"Shut up, you human piece of filth." One of them said, and a fist approached his face. It made a fast, painful connection and Spock found himself on the ground. Another kicked him in the ribs.

"Ow!" He yelled, and a shoe-clad foot smashed his jaw.

"Your mother is disgusting." The third one interjected, almost in a sing-song tone, and spat in his face.

"Help!" Spock called, but no one attended him. The three Vulcan children took turns kicking him into a wall. A school master finally yelled in Vulcan at the three, but did nothing to reprimand them. Spock ran back to his mother while they were distracted, and she cradled him for a while.

"Spock," Amanda said, and he could feel her warm hands on his tender chin, the motherly love behind each of her gestures, her fingers wipe tears from the delicate black eye they gave him. "It'll be okay." He leaned into her and cried, her fine hair brushing the tips of his ears. He wanted to believe her.

She had always been there when he needed her.

But had he been there when she needed him?

No.

He couldn't forgive himself for letting her fall. He saved his father and the others, but he let _her_ fall. He killed his mother, in a sense.

And he tried to forget, he tried to forger with Nyota. While he was attracted to her, he knew it was a mechanism. A "quick-fix" in human terminology, the nights he felt her smooth skin, the color of chocolate, the color of intoxication, against his own, the way her soft lips fell on his, if only for a second. They broke it off a bit before this mission, she claimed he was getting too clingy.

He was alright with that.

Spock, returning to reality and diffusing from his thoughts, cast a stealthy glance at the doctor beside him. She was tall, which was an attractive point to Vulcans, but lacked the severe features which they also found attractive. Intelligence was key, and so was neatness and organization, He was quite sure about the former, but had yet to see about the latter. He transferred his gaze back to the wall, and reached over and pressed the button for her. The door swished open, and they walked in. It would be logical to pursue her if they got along. He half-smiled to himself.

The room was filled with those metal crates, what appeared to be an examination table, and a large piece of furniture containing drawers that were both deep and wide. A computer screen sat on the wall left of the entrance, but a regular computer with a desk was near the large metal cabinet with drawers.

Lesley began riffling around through a small briefcase and finally removed what she had been looking for, a steno pad and pen. She could feel the Vulcan judge her as she sat them on the examination table. There was a reason for her madness however. It was familiar.

Growing up, her family could never afford a PADD or even a computer. Every cent Lesley's mother made from teaching piano lessons or playing at events went toward either bills or a college fund for Lesley. Her father only earned money after his missions, and the life insurance policy from her father and his amassed salary that had been sent from Starfleet got her into a good University. The steno pad was familiar, gave her a sense of home in a new place.

Collecting other instruments from her briefcase, she began to pry open on of the crates. A complete skeleton was exposed and she began measuring and annotating previous notes, writing down details, putting on gloves and examining consistencies.

"It is illogical that you use such primitive devices for recording."

The voice made Lesley's head snap back to the source of it. she looked up at Spock from her crouched position on the floor. He loomed over her, tall and straight.

"Oh." Lesley replied, shrugging. "I like them. I'll have a hard-copy if the power fails." She went back to the skeleton, counting its teeth, making sure none had fallen out during transport. She marked her page with the number, then moved onto the ribs, looking for anything, even a hairline crack, which would suggest someone had messed up. Nothing.

"I should remind you that we have a generator. There is little chance of a power outage." Lesley could sense that Spock was trying to reassure her and doing and amazing job by Vulcan standards, but sounding argumentative by human standards.

"Well, what if they fail too?" She simply asked. A small mischievous smile played on her face. Lesley couldn't help but being what her mother called "wise". It was her nature.

"Now you are inventing illogical scenarios." Spock replied.

Lesley shrugged and went back to furiously scribbling on her steno pad. There was an uneasy silence between the two; the air seemed electrified. Spock peered down into the crate, a skull grinned up at him. Death was not his favorite subject. His eyes roved from the skeleton to the doctor. She pressed the end of her pen to her mouth thoughtfully, then got up and moved to the next crate. The quiet was ringing in her ears. which she hated. She usually played music to fill it up while working. She took a small risk and looked at the Commander.

"How about some music?" She asked, light eyebrows perched precariously over the wide cornflower eyes. "Good." She answered her own question, not bothering to wait for his response. After a moment of syncing the PADD with the computer, she pressed a button and Beethoven filled the room. Lesley went onto the next skeleton, repeating the process. Soon, she had written down all the details of every skeleton. She looked at all the sets of bones, then to the drawers.

What a daunting task.

She began by taking the human skeletons and sectioning off five drawers for them, then a few Vulcan skeletons, a few animal skeletons. Carefully moving each bone, she re-constructed them in the large drawers. It was so damn difficult to delve into her work with Spock's stare boring holes into her back. She retrieved a chair from the desk and stood on it, getting to the higher drawers.

"Is there a way I could assist you, doctor?" He asked, and she turned around to address him. At that moment, the chair shifted under her and she came crashing down, landing on her feet. Lesley went to take a step, trying to set the chair back up. Her right ankle screamed out in pain. She finally looked down at it, and it looked relatively normal, so she tried to take another step. More pain. She grimaced.

"Are you alright, doctor?" Spock asked, darting close to her side. The fall did not look as if it had harmed her, but the grimace on her face said otherwise. Lesley leaned on the cabinet and narrowed her eyes a bit. She had an inkling that he was concerned, but annoyance flooded her brain just the same. _Do I __**look**__ alright?_ She was tempted to ask, but didn't. He had good intentions.

"No." She squeaked, and hopped over to the examination table, wincing each time a bit of pressure was placed on her foot. She sat on the table and hauled her leg up. She pinched her pants leg and pulled it up. There was a large bruise, but not much else.

"Should I call Dr. McCoy?" Spock asked, raising his eyebrows in the slightest manner. Despite the searing pain in her right ankle, Lesley felt her heart senselessly thump again.

"No thank you, Commander," She said, clenching her teeth together as she rubbed the bruise. "He already dislikes me."

"That's an illogical notion," Spock said, his eyebrows knitting together when he tried to remove her boot without harming her. She gasped when it was slightly jostled.

"My apologies, Doctor." He told her, then paged McCoy.

"It's fine," She said, delicately picking off her sock, then looking at it, discarding it on top of her boot. She looked at her foot, her ankle was turning purple with a yellow tinge wherever the bruise met healthy flesh. It hurt to even lay eyes on the damage, so instead she focused her attention on Spock. Like most Vulcans she'd seen pictures of, his skin had a subtle greenish tint that contrasted with close-cropped dark hair and black eyes. He was currently putting on a pair of examination gloves. She cocked her head, wondering what he was going to do.

He went back to one of the crates, beginning where she left off. He held up a Vulcan skull, turning to her.

"I have a question, Dr. Ray," He began, rotating the skull so that she could fully see it. A faint smile graced her lips.

"Is it 'to be or not to be'?" She asked, then winced a bit. Her ankle throbbed and the pain occurred in waves. Lesley dug her fingernails into her knee to keep from howling.

"What?" The Vulcan asked, still considering the bones.

"You know...Hamlet. William Shakespeare." She replied, biting her lips. The trivial conversation distracted her, at least. It wasn't that he was stupid, he was just very..._Vulcan._ Very literal.

"Forgive me, as I am still not very proficient with the human culture." He said, contemplating the skull as he sat it down in the crate. There was another uneasy silence. Spock took off the exam gloves and stood over next to Lesley again.

"It's okay," She told him evenly. "I'm not that clever with Vulcan culture." It as quiet in the room, which amplified Lesley's heartbeat in her own ears. She tried to conjure up in her mind what her professor in University had taught her about Vulcans. _Let's see, _She thought, straining to remember. _They're vegetarians, they purge emotion and practice self-control through meditation._ She was ashamed to admit to herself that there was not much else she knew about the race, all in all it was pretty pathetic for her as an anthropologist. She knew just enough to identify a set of bones. It could be beneficial for Lesley to work with the Commander, she knew, and now she looked pretty damn unprofessional, admitting the little she knew about his people and nearly crying because she got a bruise.

"And please," She murmured, before she could stop herself. "Don't be so formal, call me Lesley. We'll be working closely together, as you've mentioned." She immediately regretted it. _Way to keep it professional. _She scolded herself.

Spock looked at her, attempting not to reveal what a conundrum she was to him. _So human. So illogical._ He did not know of many scientists who were so informal, so willing to show weakness. She tried to be professional, he sensed, but it really wasn't logical to be now, after she had damaged herself and he helped her.

The doors opened and Dr. McCoy stepped into the room.

Lesley's demeanor changed from casual to cold in mere seconds.

"Took you long enough." She complained, crossing her arms and pinching them. McCoy glared at her.

"You've sprained it, pretty bad too." He growled, then went about his work dutifully. In about half-an-hour the ankle was bandaged and set. She was given a clunky boot to wear in order to keep it stable.

"How long do I have to wear this for?" She asked, more than a little annoyed, and Spock was taken aback by her ungratefulness. Even though he wasn't particularly fond of McCoy, she should have at least displayed some gratitude.

"About three weeks." McCoy responded, smirking into his medical bag. "It was pretty bad."

_Shit. _She thought. She'd only broken a toe before, this seemed like a whole new irritation to deal with.

"Thank you." She finally said to McCoy, sounding more like a petulant child than a grown woman. If Leonard McCoy ever would've slapped a woman, this one would have had numerous hand marks on her face. He left the room, fuming.

She gingerly rose to her feet and finished the skeletons with the help of Spock. There was little discussion in the laboratory, and it got mostly organized in an hour.

Before Lesley retired to her quarters until dinner after leaving the lab, she was pleasantly surprised.

"If we are to operate on such an informal basis, please address me as Spock, Lesley." He told her, before going to supervise another project.

Lesley stood in front of her door, stunned, and finally went into her room after five minutes of gaping after him as he sauntered down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner went better than expected; Lesley and McCoy actually started to get along, with the help of Jim. Spock still remained a mystery. He was quiet during dinner, and her eyes fell to where he was sitting on more than one occasion. She hadn't really given him the right first impression when she'd first laid eyes on him, her hair looked like a complete rat's nest. Another mortifying thought occurred to her: she had given the _whole_ lecture looking like a cyclone had spun on the top of her head. _Damn it, damn it, damn it. _Even catching glimpses of herself in the window made her jump, she looked like a living corpse, dark crescents hung under her eyes, she was white as a sheet.

To top it off, the way she acted toward Dr. McCoy wasn't exactly grateful, a trait she sensed Spock most likely harbored admiration for. McCoy set her ankle and what did she do? She acted like a child. _Oh well. _She said to herself. _We may not have started out on the best foot, but at least we're getting along now. _Jim had helped that situation.

He was a different story entirely.

Captain Kirk was initially sweet to her, but she had her suspicions. Flirting was like sport to him, and he wasn't deterred by much, or he felt bad for her, given her dreadful appearance this morning. Lesley knew what he wanted from every woman on the ships, unless the were hopelessly ugly, but maybe even then: to be a "friend with benefits". Like hell that would happen. She reflected on these things while washing her face in her quarters. The water was cool and soothing; she could faintly hear Spock going about his motions on the other side of the wall. There was something, someone Jim reminded her of...

University was when Lesley really blossomed, gaining some self-confidence, and a pair of glasses that framed her face, post eye surgery days. There was a very handsome young man, an archaeology major who she had to take a Paleolithic history course with. It was about twenty minutes after she slept with him. He casually lit up a cigarette as she got dressed to go back to her dormitory.

"Make sure you finish my term paper, babe." He said, right before she left. And she _did_ finish that term paper. She filled it with inaccurate and fantastical information. They never spoke to each other again.

Presently, this struck Lesley as hilarious. She tried to hold in her laughter, pulling on her pyjamas, but failed.

"HA!" She began, her trademark sarcastic laugh, then collapsed on her bed in a fit of giggles.

The light emptiness caressed Spock's mind endlessly, all he could hear was his own steady heartbeat, his own breathing.

Meditation was one of his favorite rituals, when he could pause, rationalize, then dismiss and purge the thoughts and events he wished to. His mind was polished glass, smooth and bright.

It would be illogical not to meditate. If he did not, illogical emotions would overrule the logical facade. He could allow small thoughts entertaining the ghosts of feelings to lurk in shadowy corners of his mind. He vaguely felt anger, joy, love, sorrow.

The end-of-day meditation was usually the most enlightening, and he was almost finished, almost ready to retire-

"HA!"

He opened his eyes. His sharp hearing had captured what sounded like a human laugh, coming from the east wall of his quarters.

Spock presumed it to be Lesley Ray, the new member of the crew and resident anthropologist. His eyebrows raised almost in contempt when he heard the giggle-fit that ensued. What could she have found so amusing? Perhaps he would bring it up to her tomorrow during work hours, it would be logical for him to wonder what had interrupted his meditation. She was what humans called an "odd-duck". When giving the lecture, her hair was a mess, however, her working habits were neat and organized. She may or may not have gotten the dark circles under her eyes from illogically laughing all night long, when most humans should be sleeping. Her behavior toward Dr. McCoy was amusing yet uncalled for, however, they seemed to be getting along at the moment. He shrugged involuntarily, then heard her quiet down and go to sleep. Sleep would be logical. He went to bed after a short burst of meditation.

Lesley awoke the next morning, her alarm shrieked that it was time for her to get up.

"Alarm off," She said, and the noise was silenced. Busy morning sounds filled the corridor outside of her doors, and she shot them an accusatory glare. Her bed was warm, she did not want to face the cold world outside of it. _At least my bed likes me, _She mused. _It never wants to let me go._ She swung her legs to the side of her bed and forced herself to get up. Recoiling at the coldness of the floor on her bare feet, she hurried to the lavatory and used her shower, hearing Spock's deliberate morning routine on the other side of the wall.

How strangely intimate.

She heard his clothes shuffle as he changed, the sound of his boots slipping on.

Lesley sighed as she finished her morning rountine, twisting the towel on her head into a turban. She looked warily at herself in the mirror, hoping to see an improvement.

The dark circles under her eyes were gone, which she took as a good sign, and now her eyes were again the best feature of her face. She considered a tube of mascara, but threw it away; she'd never been a make-up type of girl.

After getting dressed in her uniform and putting on the clunky boot, she brushed her hair back and put it into a ponytail.

Lesley was ready to go, she left her quarters and headed to the officer's mess, self-consciously aware of how slow she was walking, and that someone was steadily gaining on her. She shuffled abashedly to the side of the hallway to let the person pass, but instead, they stopped beside her. Intrigued as to who it might be, she looked up.

Of course.

_Goddamn it._

It was Commander Spock.

"Lesley," He said, walking on, motioning for her to follow. "You are traveling to the officer's mess?"

"Yes, Commander." She replied, biting the inside of her cheek, willing the heat rising to her cheeks to be swallowed up by the rest of her body.

"I believe that last night we had agreed to operate on an informal basis, Lesley." Spock responded. She knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Spock." She said, the word sounding odd in her mouth. But, deep down, it scared her, how much she enjoyed saying his name, how it tasted sweet and exotic on her lips, and she wondered how he felt...

_Not now. _She scolded herself, clenching her fists until her fingernails made small indentations on her palm. _Stop preoccupying yourself with jejune fantasies. He's __**speaking.**_

"During meditation last night I was interrupted...did you find something particularly humorous?" He asked her, and she looked at him, and finally allowed herself to blush fiercely.

"No," She said, as they approached the officer's mess, searching for an explanation. "I mean...I'm sorry for interrupting your meditation. I didn't intend to."

She was aware of how her boot was clunking on the floor. At least he didn't seem upset, he seemed more...amused and curious. Lesley felt like she was under a magnifying glass when he even glanced at her, now that he was looking at her directly, she felt like she would melt away, right into a puddle on the floor.

"Forgive me, please. I just remembered an incident from University." She managed, elaborating. The mess hall doors slid open with ease.

Spock let Lesley clamber through first, as she was injured, it was logical. He noticed Jim and McCoy at their usual table. Jim was smirking, Spock noted with some distaste. He'd get a comment from Jim later on. Spock caught up to Lesley, who was headed for a replicator.

"It sounds as though you did not attend the Academy." Spock observed, and Lesley nodded. "Where did you attend?"

"The University of Maine, on Earth. Starfleet eventually needed an anthropologist, and I wanted to join. The Academy doesn't really teach anthropology," She added. "I mean, its been drastically changed within the last two hundred years, we've added the timelines of other races."

Lesley replicated an orange, bright in contrast to the white and grey walls of the officer's mess, along with a bottle of water.

"Lesley!"

She heard her name called, her eyes wandered over to the source of the noise. As she had guessed, Jim Kirk had been the culprit.

"Sit over here! Psst! Lesley! Sit!"

Lesley finally gave in and hobbled over to the table, sitting a seat away from the over-zealous captain and McCoy, who obviously was not a morning person.

"So, how's the hobgoblin treating you?" McCoy asked, drinking a cup of replicator coffee. It was terrible, but he downed it just the same. She tilted her head slightly, conveying an expression of pure confusion.

"He means Spock." Jim said, popping the "p". The connection was finally made in her mind: pointy ears, green blood. She felt oddly offended, but searched thoughtfully for an answer that wouldn't give away her feelings as she peeled her orange.

"He isn't mean to me." She said honestly. That was a good answer, it didn't imply anything. Jim nodded, still smirking and McCoy drank his coffee with his eyebrows raised expectantly. "What?" She asked, feeling stupid, her face growing hot again. Twice in one morning. She could tell that this day would go splendidly.

"Well, you two walked in together." Jim said, dropping the smirk. "And I heard from bones here that he helped to attend you when you injured yourself." Then, lowering his voice as Spock approached the table. "He doesn't do that for everyone."

He arrived at the table and pulled out a chair casually, picking at his rice with a fork. Even though Vulcans were purely logical, Lesley could tell that his decisions were based on emotion. She lowered her eyes and drank her water.

Spock gave her a sideward look, without her noticing. The table had grown quiet when he arrived. Before he heard Jim murmuring, saying "He doesn't do that for everyone". What could the captain have been referring to? Spock let the thought drift off into the depths of his mind.

"Hey Lesley," Jim began, to break the unsettling quiet. "Have I ever told you about when I drove a car from 1965 off of the edge of a cliff?" He finished, complete with devilish smirk, bad-boy attitude and all. Lesley's eyes widened at the mention of the destruction of such a legendary car.

"No." She said, picking he orange peel into small pieces. McCoy rolled his eyes; he only heard this story about a million times before. Jim went on to fascinate Lesley with the tale of how he destroyed a beautiful car.

Spock left the table once he finished his rice. Lesley still listened to Jim's story, but noted with some concern his silence. Once Captain Kirk had ended his tale, they all left the officer's mess.

Lesley walked through her laboratory doors, taking out her PADD from under her arm, and then opening up the file program. She walked into the room, her eyes still locked on the screen, when she heard movement. She looked up abruptly, to see Spock already in the laboratory. She felt her heartbeat speed up involuntarily. _Strange. I thought he had to supervise another cadet project._

He appeared to be deciphering her handwriting, leafing through her steno pad. Lesley wasn't sure if she should interpret this as a crude invasion of her privacy or as an act of efficiency, or as a labor of love. She quickly swatted away the last option. _Don't be stupid._

"What are you doing?" She finally asked, and he spun around toward her in the swivel chair. He looked up at her, making direct eye contact; she felt her innards melt once again. His black eyes stared steadily into hers, and she snapped back to reality. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and tilted her head to the side.

"I am currently in the process of computerizing your notes for you. I thought it best for you to continue conversing with the captain." He simply said, then spun to face the computer again.

A terrifying notion struck Lesley.

Did he think she liked Jim? Muteness rang in her ears, and she took a breath, mustering up the courage to speak.

"I don't like him in that way, you know." Lesley breathed, and in an instant Spock whirled around to look at her. He got up seemingly amused, and she hung her head, eyes down, her face hot and her cheeks scarlet.

"I know." He said, then handed her the steno pad. Her hand gently brushed his , and she felt him recoil slightly. _He hates me._ She thought, before going on to the computer and parting ways with him. The feeling that she had done something incredibly wrong and stupid sank down into her stomach, she'd made an ass of herself in front of Spock. Sitting down in the warm chair and placing her hands on the keyboard, she heard the doors slide open and his footsteps as he exited. She wanted to crawl into a cave and stay there for, say, ten years. Lesley drooped down into the chair and buried her head into her hands.

The emotions that Lesley had transferred to Spock perplexed him, hot feelings of embarrassment, and an underlying attraction. It wasn't the fact that she was feeling them, she prone to, as all humans were, but he wondered why she felt them. It was illogical for her to be embarrassed, all she did was disclose a small fact about herself, which he already knew. _Humans do not operate on a logical basis,_ He reminded himself. _Much less human women._ His mother had been the perfect example. She still said she loved him even though she may have been disappointed in his behavior at times as he grew to adulthood. His father had not always shown her the typical type of human affection, and yet she loved him. Humans were purely illogical.

He hadn't meant to draw back at her touch. It was simply a shock to him. He hadn't known her for long, and to get a glimpse of something as private as her deepest thoughts and feelings was somewhat rattling. He didn't hate her, as she had suspected, he actually cared for her in a convoluted type of way. He would not call it love, love was a human emotion. _Logical attraction,_ He thought to himself. Spock made it to the door of his quarters to re-collect himself, then he decided to go back to the laboratory to tell her that he did not hate her. It was the logical thing to do.

Spock entered as quietly as possible, seeing her slumped over form in the chair. Her face was buried in her hands, she was the epitome of pure shame. She had put on some music to fill the emptiness, he identified it as another Beethoven piece.

"Lesley," He inquired, walking further into the lab, until he was next to her chair. She didn't look up.

"I think I've humiliated myself enough in front of you, Commander." The sentence was muffled, she spoke into her hands.

"I will not remind you of our agreement," He said, in regards to how she avoided saying his name. Somehow, it didn't sound as correct in her mouth to him as his name did. "But I will say that I do not hate you."

"What?" She asked sharply, looking up at him for the first time since he entered the room. The confusion was prevalent on her face, her brow slightly wrinkled.

"I do not hate you. You thought that I did." He responded, talking slowly, almost as if to a small child, who didn't understand much. She identified his tone and went back to her notes.

"Don't patronize me, Spock." She said, and he half-smiled at the use of his name. He quickly hid it. He wasn't supposed to show any emotion. She typed more of the notes. "That's very reassuring, but I'm not quite sure how..." A funny look began to contort her face, one eyebrow raised, she frowned. "I don't even know how to say this. I'm not sure how you...got that information."

Her hands jabbed the keys on the computer keyboard, then she swiveled the chair, facing him. He had dropped the authoritative, severe posture, his arms hung at his sides and he was still standing up straight, but there was a slight slouch to his posture. He was being serious, and she was acting stupid.

"I am sorry. I forget of your newness to the Vulcan culture. For Vulcans, skin to skin contact is a very intimate type of bonding which allows us to feel and transmit thoughts and emotions to and from the other party." Spock seemed a bit smug, but Lesley was crestfallen as she realized the implications of this. She stared at him quietly for a moment.

"So...this puts me in a rather compromising position." She responded, drumming her fingers nervously on the desk. "What do you know?" She asked, going back to the notes, flipping to the very last page. She typed furiously, closed her steno pad, swiveled to face him once again.

"I know that you thought I hated you. I know that you were extremely, illogically shamed. Also..." He paused, pushing down a half-smile, attempting to put what he wanted to say into words that would not make her more humiliated than she clearly already was. "I know that you are not attracted to Captain James Kirk." He finished carefully.

She seemed extremely relieved.

"Oh," She replied, putting the steno pad in her briefcase.

"However, I did get a sense of who you are attracted to." He elaborated, waiting for a reaction.

"_Oh._" She said again, and he sense alarm in her voice. She was hushed for a moment, her teeth clamped down on her lip. "And?"

"I know you are attracted to me." Spock finished. _This __would__ happen to me._ Lesley thought, and looked up at him. He once again noticed her wide blue eyes, filled with questions, but she did not speak. "I do think you to be a logical decision for a mate, but I have not known you long enough to make a choice."

"Hm." She remarked, keeping a calm, even exterior. Internally, her mind was racing. _Is that how Vulcans flirt?_ Lesley silently cheered at the news of her being a "logical decision", but she knew what he meant. Love could not be forced. They barely knew each other, and already he knew that she had strong feelings for him. _What a situation._ She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Breaking the classical music playlist, a sultry jazz melody came on. _How inopportune. _She thought, but did nothing to change it. She rose from the chair and clunked across the room to the metal drawers, opening the first one, then clicking around on the PADD. Spock walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder. Entering the dimensions of skeletons in order to make an accurate three-dimensional model, she went about her work with a sense of duty. It was easier to act as if the previous conversation hadn't happened. The atmosphere in the room was awkward, and Spock's subtle breath surging down her back. She shuddered visibly.

"Please stop," She murmured. "I'm trying to work." He backed off a bit, and the shudder-inducing breath on her back stopped. Spock watched her fingers move on the PADD, fascinated at the accuracy and quickness with which she punched the characters on the screen; it seemed effortless.

"Are you a pianist?" He asked, and she shook her head no, still entering the measurements.

"Why?" She asked, intrigued by the question. The shape of her hands and fingers had never really occurred to her before, and she found it odd that he would notice.

"My mother was a pianist, perhaps that's where I get it from." She said, her eyes flicking from the skeleton to the PADD. "She went to Julliard for piano, then taught lessons. I was never very interested. I preferred dead things." A small, guttural laugh emanated from her throat as she recalled the time when her mother had to practically drag her away from a piece of road kill. Curiosity suddenly seized her; she knew nothing about Spock's history, this would be a good place to start. "What about yours?" She asked softly.

"My mother was what you would call a 'free-spirit'," Spock began, and Lesley, to his surprise, turned off the PADD and listened to him. He recounted to her the times when she comforted him, all of her mannerisms.

"...I was never very popular in school," He concluded. "As my mother was human and my father was Vulcan."

Lesley could definitely relate, and the small bits of sorrow, like shattered bits of glass, in his voice made her want to give him a kiss on the cheek. Just a small one, nothing drastic. She fought off the urge to rise on her tip-toes and give him a peck on the cheek.

"Me neither. Although, the reasons for me were because my family was working-class and I had glasses about a mile thick. I can relate, been-there-done-that. I'm sorry that happened to you." She finally said, and he graced her with a genuine smile. Having someone to relate to, even in the slightest way, was consoling.

Lesley was taken aback by his show of emotion, struck silent. Her eyes quickly darted to the clock. It was nearly the end of the workday. How long had this lasted? At least she got some work done. She finally returned the smile with one of her own, after the primary shock. She was falling in love with him, falling hard and fast, and she could only hope that he would catch her and return her affections.

"Lesley," Spock said. "I have made my choice."

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews appreciated, thanks to all of my lovely reviewers. Sorry for the late update. **


	3. Chapter 3

It was a rather graceless method of falling in love, but Lesley could accept it; it was what she dreamed about since she arrived. He wasn't a very touchy-feely and affectionate type, he was very peculiar about being touched. _At least know I know why. _She mused. She had left the lab in a hurry before he could say anything else to her, those almost confrontational instances fazed her to quite a degree, no one had really ever returned feelings of romantic love toward her before.

So Lesley did what any sensible person would do when faced with the fact that a romantic relationship was most likely imminent.

She went back to her quarters and stared at the ceiling for two hours, skipping dinner. Falling in love, when the other person reciprocated it, was so odd. There was always the chance that she would disappoint them somehow, and ruin it completely. A feeling somewhere in between foreboding and exciting sat deep in her chest. Working with the dead had come easily to her, she'd never really hit it off with the living, and wasn't sure if she was a solitary, private person, or just very pathetic. _Well, I'm not going to be either, I suppose,_ She thought, and folded her hands on her chest.

Spock was fully aware of how astonished Lesley was; the way her eyes widened in shock after he informed her that he had chosen her and how she wordlessly exited the laboratory indicated exactly how bewildered she was. He again had to remind himself not to be offended, she was an illogical human, swayed by illogical emotions, and was attempting to come to terms with the unexpected. Her absence at dinner said more than anything to him; he thought she was attracted to him and would therefore want to spend time with him, but apparently not. _Human women are full of contradictions,_ He assured himself, thinking back to his own mother, how she would spend hours picking through her wardrobe before an event, how his father would suggest a dress for her to wear, and she would disagree. After a few more hours of trying on dresses, she would come out wearing the outfit his father had first picked. Sarek would slightly shake his head at her, and the subtlest of smiles would paint his face as he took Amanda's arm. Spock only hoped that he would have a relationship similar to his parents', that one day he too would find his T'hy'la. His father had given him an awkward, uneasy talk about Vulcan mating habits when he came of age, telling him about pon farr and T'hy'las. It was logical to do, but he he was more at ease when it was over.

Snapping back to the present, Spock found himself finishing his dinner. Lesley still had not arrived, he assumed that a bit more was plaguing her than the usual stresses of a drastic change in the environment. A small, creeping feeling in the back of his mind suggested that it was their encounter only a few hours before. He he really frightened her so? He left the officer's mess, slipping out unnoticed, and headed to the laboratory. She was probably there, attempting to project the three-dimensional model she had been in the process of making. No music flowed out of the room once the doors submissively opened. He poked his head in.

Empty.

A bit alarmed, he walked to her quarters. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, one being that she was utterly mortified and decided to kill herself. He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. Besides being purely illogical, she hadn't seemed _that_ upset. He pressed the chime on the side of her door.

Lesley had drifted off to sleep, and the chime at the door woke her abruptly.

"Come in," She said, leaning her head back on the pillow. The doors darted open, and she peered up. It was Spock. She sighed, putting her head back down, then got up, trying to straighten the wrinkles in her uniform.

"I am sorry to have awakened you, but I came to inquire after your well-being." He said, his posture once again less formal, he seemed more relaxed, and she could even see a bit of concern on his face. She looked so defeated, laying by herself in her bed and staring up at the grey ceiling.

"I'm fine, Spock" She said softly, picking up a book, examining the cover. "The new sleep schedule is just screwing everything up for me. Don't mind it." She opened the book and thumbed through it, trying to nonchalantly avoid Spock's prying gaze.

"It does not seem that way." Spock lightly commented, wanting to get to the root of the problem. It was not logical to avoid talking about it. She simply shrugged. "Are you conflicted about my decision?" He asked, which finally fully engaged her. She put the book down slowly, and faced him. Her hair was a mess from sleeping; the ponytail was sticking up in different directions and a few fly-away bits stuck out around her ears.

"You should sit," She told him, sinking to a sitting position on her bed, and tucking her legs up underneath her. "I don't know how we should go about this." She began, as Spock took a seat in the armchair opposite the bed. He clasped his hands on the arm rests, his eyes flitted to the bookshelf. Mostly fiction, a few anthropology quarterlies.

"Honestly, falling in love is a matter that I'm not very experienced with. I like you, and I think it's absolutely wonderful that the feeling is mutual. It's just that it's very...different to me. Don't take offense if I come off as annoyed or if you feel like I'm neglecting you." She finished, and he nodded. She raised her hand to smooth her hair back, and felt all the loose pieces on her palm. _My God. Every time I try to make a point, my hair is an absolute atrocity. _Lesley removed the ponytail holder, and shook out her hair, then ran through it a few times with her fingers. She went to put it back up, when Spock began to speak.

"It is most logical to let yourself fall in love naturally." He observed. Then half-smiling. "I will not take offense. You have your own personality, I do not expect you to change it to appease me." He looked at her, and a smile had put a glow on her face, her features softened. Spock would not mind spending the remainder of his time with her. "Although, if you could manage to slightly revise one thing, I prefer when you leave your hair down."

"It would be logical, if you enjoy it so much," She teased, and his face turned a bit more green than usual, if only for a second. _Blushing? _She wondered, suddenly engrossed in noticing the tiny details of his countenance. He had long, nearly effeminate eyelashes that brushed onto his high cheekbones each time he blinked. "It gets in the way all the time." She said, tearing her eyes off of him and putting her hair up before he could object. Lesley knew that he would be the correct choice for her as well, not only was he pleasing to the eye, he treated her with dignity. Taking a small risk, opened her mouth to speak.

"Tell me how Vulcan was."

Spock put his hands on his knees, beginning to tell her of Vulcan, about the heat of the planet, the cuisine, the people. She listened with rapt attention, nodding occasionally. More than once, she detected slight bitterness in his voice when he talked about his own experience with his classmates. After exhausting the topic he sat quietly, and looked around the room, it was similar to his in everything except for the personal touches she'd put up, her books, of course, were extremely different. The usual thing was to upload books to a PADD, but with her obvious preference for words on paper, it wasn't that shocking. He browsed some of the titles, but as he'd seen before, it was mostly Earth literature. He slightly turned his head, viewing the pictures she had on her shelf and on the wall near her closet. There was a portrait of a man on the shelf, a likeness of who he guessed to be her father, although she hasn't spoken about him to the closet, a photo of her and her mother decorated the wall. Lesley seemed to be no more than four or five years of age in the picture, her hair askew and she was concentrating on bashing the keys of a piano. She sat on the lap of a woman, her mother, who Lesley resembled very much, and who was staring at the camera with a content, if hapless smile.

"You look very much like your mother." Spock finally said, and she peeked up at him, picking at her clothes abashedly.

"Thanks," She replied, not sure how to interpret that. Her mother was a beautiful lady, and although it was flattering, there was definitely a creepy undertone. The conversation seemed to end at an uncomfortable stalemate, neither of them was not sure about what to say to the other. He rose to leave, and unexpectedly, Lesley hopped to her feet as nimbly as she could.

"Spock," She started, and suddenly the tense atmosphere dissipated. He sent her a questioning look. "Wait." There were so many things that she wanted to say to him, about how she wished he hadn't gone through the horrid mistreatment, but she knew he would think her foolish. Wishing was not logical; therefore, he would shrug it off. _Why is this so damn complicated? _She asked herself.

"Lesley." He reponded calmly, walking over to her, filling the gap in between them. Spock could sense that she was overwhelmed; her eyes tracked him uneasily, then went to her feet.

She finally stepped up to the him, close enough that the toes of their boots were touching. His breath cascaded down the front of her neck this time. Lesley felt her heart skip a few beats as she raised to her tip-toes and gave in to the temptation that had been urging her all day.

Her lips delicately landed on Spock's cheek, and then retreated in an almost hasty manner. He looked down at her, her face flushed pink and she stared at the floor, refusing to see whhat she had anticipated: a look of sheer disappointment. A hand sneaked under her chin, angling her face slightly upward. She was tall, but Spock had about four inches of height on her. Immense care and love had been behind the kiss, and he could feel that, it almost scared him that he enjoyed the sensation of getting kissed so much. He couldn't recall feeling such intense emotion transmitted through touch before, she was puzzling, but he couldn't say that he didn't enjoy the challenge of decoding her.

"T'hy'la." He whispered to her quietly, a subtle smile playing on his face as he saw her countenance furrow with confusion.

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><p><strong>AN: Finally, chapter 3 is up. Shorter than the other chapters, but I think it's an okay length. Thanks to all my awesome reviewers, keeping me motivated. :) **


	4. Chapter 4

Lesley was not sure what to do; he soundlessly left her quarters after his statement and walked to his own. She heard what he had said to her, it was a Vulcan term, but she was still not entirely sure of its meaning. If only she'd paid attention in her Introduction to Vulcan course.

"Computer," She demanded, sitting down at her desk. "Open a Vulcan to English translator for me." The window suddenly popped up on the screen and she hesitated before continuing. He could hear her from his quarters, that she was sure of, and would probably think it was quite funny that she was too nervous to candidly ask him what it meant.

"Translate from Vulcan: T'hy'la." She carried on, as softly as she could manage. The word "soul-mate" materialized on the screen. She sighed with relief. At least he wasn't calling her an idiot or stupid. A tiny seed of anticipation planted in her mind, maybe he was actually being serious about this. Doubt clouded the excitement; they were moving along at a relatively fast pace.

"Computer, turn off." She commanded, and the screen faded to black.

Spock smiled to himself. As he sat down for evening meditation, he could hear Lesley translating what he said. Her silence had been purely curious, which he presumed to be a good thing.

He went about his meditation like usual, but found it difficult to fully immerse himself; thoughts ran rampant through his mind. The High Council was supposed to be boarding the Enterprise in nearly a week's time to discuss a colonization prospect on a new planet. Lesley's presence was mandatory, she needed to voice her concerns on it. There was no painless way around introducing Lesley to his father. Spock was not entirely sure if Sarek would even care for Lesley; she was prone to having messy hair, her emotions were highly volatile. Combined with her fairly limited knowledge of Vulcan culture, it was predictable that there would be some sort of clash between the two. _Although realistic about her abilities, Lesley does tend to degrade herself on the subject of her shortcomings. _Spock reasoned, also taking into account his belief that she knew a bit more than she let on, or at least more than she thought she knew.

His father had always been a very solemn Vulcan, not unusual, perhaps it was just Spock's human side reading too much into things. Amanda had always been the more affectionate parent. Deep meditation would be completely useless now, it would be more logical to settle for its lighter, easier counterpart, where he could simply think reflectively. A vague worry sat in his mind, but he brushed it away, then resolved to sleep. Meditating in the morning with a fresh mind would be easier, therefore logical.

The day had started out well. Spock and Lesley arrived at the officer's mess as a pair and left as a pair. It seemed to be something more than mere academic camaraderie, at least to Jim Kirk. For one thing, the idea of Spock actually falling in love just about made in laugh aloud.

"Hey," Jim started, poking McCoy with a fork. McCoy, too tired to even give him a mean look, raised his eyebrows over his coffee mug. "Wonder where those two are going." It came out as more of a suggestive statement than a question, and Jim motioned his head toward the exiting couple. McCoy put the cup down, his jaw slacked in disbelief.

"Guess the hob-goblin has feelings after all." McCoy said, the slight Southern twang in his voice amplifying the cynical comment. "Going after that Yankee, too. I always thought he and Uhura had something going..." He began to trail off on a tangent, until he noted Jim's impish grin.

Bones shot him a withering look.

"Damn it Jim, really?" McCoy asked, and Jim sort of nodded, putting oatmeal on his spoon then watching it drip off. "There isn't one female humanoid on this ship safe from your touch, if there?"

When Lesley and Spock arrived at the laboratory, a young Cadet was there, along with a few metal crates. Lesley's mood suddenly shifted from mellow to pure excitement. "There's a Bone delivery for Dr. Ray," The Cadet said uncertainly, unsure of why the Vulcan was there. Just the same, the young man held up a PADD, and the doctor signed it.

"Weird." The Cadet murmured as he left, to which Spock concealed a smirk and strode over to Lesley, who had already busied herself opening the first crate. Spock knelt beside her, hastily read the label on the crate: Klingon. As she eased the lid off, the species was apparent; it bore a prominent forehead with ridges. There was the soft sound of a pen writing on paper, the faint smell of ink, all very unique and extrinsic to each of Spock's senses. His eyes moved from the skeleton to Lesley, she was in a deep trance of concentration, her eyes bright, moving rapidly from her steno pad to the skeleton.

She unfolded herself from her cross-legged position on the floor, grabbed the skull, then walked over to the metal cabinet. At least it wouldn't be so difficult this time around; bottom drawers were the only ones left.

"I do not think it logical for you to be moving so frequently while injured." Spock stated, and she scanned his countenance from over her shoulder as she put the skull down. A faint smile skimmed her face. _Vulcans and their logic._

"Just drag the container over there then." She replied. He lifted the container, then walked over and sat it in front of her, noticing how her eyebrows raised appraisingly. Even for a Vulcan, the container was heavy, and both of them knew it, but it remained unexpressed. Lesley focused her face downward, looking into the crate and hiding a grin. Spock noted the process intently. Xenoanthropology interested him, it would be logical to seize the opportunity to gain knowledge on it, as it might never happen again.

After putting away the Klingon bones, Lesley faltered over to a different crate, this one labeled Orion. The lid was soon taken off, but as soon as it was removed, the smell hit. A sickly-sweet odor of decay caused the olfactory overload and permeated the entire laboratory. Spock kept a straight face, although thoroughly disgusted, and Lesley gave a short gag, then picked up the collar of her shirt and covered her nose with it. Dreading what lay in the container, they simultaneously peeked into the oblong box.

The decomposing corpse of an Orion stared up at them.

"They have got to be fucking kidding me." Lesley stated. Spock reached over the container and put a hand on her shoulder. Her head angled upward immediately, making direct eye contact with him as her collar fell into place around her neck again. She suppressed a gag as she tilted her head slightly, silently indicating that if he wanted to say anything, it'd be the perfect time.

"It will be fine Lesley." He said. A pulse of anger momentarily flashed in her eyes, then she simmered down a bit. Even though his voice remained without inflection, it was difficult not to take the comment as sardonic. _He's just trying to help, _She reasoned, then sighed. "I know. But they really couldn't have gone to the trouble of removing the flesh? Honestly." She said. "And it isn't like we have maggots here to remove it, so it has to be the old-fashioned way."

"Which is?" Spock raised his eyebrows, only a nuanced version of his normal expression, but she read his expressions like books now.

"Boiling the flesh off of the body. " She responded, and he flared his nostrils involuntarily at the notion. Death was a natural part of life, but the smell, the skulls, whish grinned at him with an almost abhorrent irony, were all parts of the process which he did not relish. Lesley giggled at his reaction. As her nose had now gotten used to the smell, the presented problem diminished by degrees. She paged McCoy and Kirk, hearing their voices clearly, then licking her lips before speaking.

Hello, it's Lesley. I'll need a few surgical masks, as well as water, a large-hot plate. And also, the biggest pot in the kitchens. Thanks." Her voice was cheerful, which puzzled Spock greatly. For an endeavor so maudlin, she was extremely chipper. T'hy'la or not, at times he doubted her sanity. The items were delivered by a cadet, who began gagging as soon as he entered, and deposited the supplies before dashing out. Lesley turned on the hot-plate, carefully placing the large pot atop it. Two large jugs of water were carefully poured into the pot.

Putting on exam gloves, she hesitantly approached the corpse. The glazed, dead eyes stared at her in an accusatory way. She turned away, shuddering, and began to prepare, not only mentally, but physically as well. Her hair was suddenly gathered into a bun; she'd opened a small closet and retrieved an apron and goggles for the both of them. She put on the necessary equipment, and then touched the PADD. Music began playing; it was an aria, the name of the opera from which it came temporarily fled Spock's mind. The water was bubbling warmly, and inviting atmosphere of the laboratory seemed horribly unfitting for the boiling of a cadaver

Lesley neared the body once again, then looked to him helplessly, motioning him over.

"Help me pick this up," She ordered, her hands cupping under the Orion's armpits. Spock stared at her, his expression unchanging, but his mind spinning with revulsion. Touching dead flesh was more terrifying than he would ever let on. Although no emotion could be transmitted, there was a grey fog and generally dismal impression. He pulled on a pair of exam gloves, unnerved. Spock cautiously lifted the feet of the carcass, and the two living beings deposited the dead one into the boiling water with a sickening plop.

"This should help a little with the smell." Lesley said, topping the pot with a lid. She decreased the heat of the hot plate by turning a small dial; pulled the surgical mask below her face. Spock did the same. The room still reeked of decay, but he'd know grown accustomed to it. She went busily about her work, occasionally humming along, apparently not letting the grotesque obstacle ruin her day.

The workday largely consisted of more organization, and occasionally, Lesley would stir the ghastly, fetid stew herself or would send Spock over to do it. She considered him as she asked him to do the latter task, smiling secretively to herself, pleased. He always proved to be very useful in the laboratory, he could always lift something she couldn't, or reach something in the very top drawer.

The door opened, and the Captain walked through, wrinkling his nose in disgust and putting his hands over the lower half of his face. Lesley threw him a surgical mask, which he promptly put on.

"What in the hell are you guys doing here?" Jim asked, and Lesley opened the pot for Jim to see. He shuddered in distaste. Then, tearing his eyes away from the gory sight. "Are you coming to dinner?"

Lesley's eyes darted to the clock.

"Shit!" She exclaimed, quickly scribbling her notes down for the last skeleton, and Spock turned quizzically toward her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She demanded, and Spock lifted his shoulders slightly, in a gesture that was almost a shrug.

"It is not uncommon to work through a break." He told her, but accompanied her to the door just the same.

"Would you mind showering before you eat?" Jim interjected, fanning his nose. "You both stink to high-heaven."

"Thanks." Lesley replied sarcastically, then broke into a clunky run to her quarters. Spock remained in the doorway, watching her. It seemed as if she had something important to do, with only a limited amount of time to accomplish it. He finally left the room, and Jim copied his actions.

Spock could only raise his eyebrows in speculation as he lost sight of her once she ambled around a corner.

"Wonder what's going on with her," Jim murmured, then a malicious grin spread on his face. "Although I have a pretty good idea." He finished, loud enough to be caught by Spock's sharp hearing.

"I am not sure of what you are insinuating, Captain." Spock retorted, walking alongside the human. He was a bit more good-natured than he had been in a while, causing Jim to be all the more suspicious.

"I bet you're having quite the time with her. I know for a fact that you spend the whole day in her lab." Jim stated, sounding childishly triumphant. For once, he had caught Spock doing something...well, something human. The snide comment caused a slight amused expression to paint Spock's face, which Jim had seen before, but had to admit was rare.

"As Dr. Ray is incapacitated, I am helping her to organize her laboratory. She is in the science field, is she not? Therefore, it is logical that I assist her." Spock shot back, however, Jim knew exactly which buttons to push and when to push them.

"I bet you've 'assisted' her with lots of things." The Captain observed, eager for details. The Commander sent him the most choleric look that a Vulcan could manage.

"It is not logical that you seek out information on the relationship between Dr. Ray and I." The Vulcan said calmly, but Jim smirked gleefully.

"So you will admit that it is a relationship?" Jim asked, and Spock shook his head slightly, not even bothering to dignify the lazy man with a reply. Before Jim could interrogate him any further, he veered off into his quarters.

Once in her living space, Lesley turned on the computer. A window opened up, containing the face of her mother. A smile tinged with dismay appeared on Lesley's mother's face. "You're late." Anna commented, shaking her head analytically. Her long, blond hair was twined with skeins of white, revealing her age, and her blue eyes were growing a bit watery. For a women in her fifties, Anna was still good-looking. "Sorry, Mom." Lesley muttered, avoiding her mother's look of disapproval. "It was a late day in the lab; can you believe that they sent a rotting corpse-"

"Enough!" Her mother cried in mock-disgust. "I don't want to hear another word on it. I don't even know how you do it, must've gotten that iron-stomach from your father." She teased. "So, have you met anyone?"

"Of course, Mom. I'm on a starship. I've met many people." She rolled her eyes. Her mother could be so oblivious sometimes. Anna smiled, seeing her daughter's reaction. Even when they talked through a computer screen, some things never changed.

"You know what I meant." Anna knowingly considered her daughter. "Have you met any men you like?"

"No." Lesley focused on her fingernails. There, an equivocation. Not quite a lie; Spock was half-Vulcan. A small, soft smile latched onto her mouth. "Don't lie to me, Lesley. I saw that smile." Her mother chided. "Now, who is it?"

Lesley blushed, peering up at her mother. Anna had always been very...traditional. She wasn't quite sure how her mother would take this.

"Well," Lesley began, drumming her fingers on the desk. "He's the Commander of the starship-"

"Very good! My girl secured a place in the heart of a man with a high rank." Anna praised, seemingly delighted. "What's his name, where's he from?"

Lesley hesitated before speaking.

"His name is Spock. He's from Vulcan."

Silence ensued as the information sunk in. It was a wonderful time to look at the floor, the wall, anything Lesley could concentrate on besides the effect the news had on her mother.

"Oh," Anna stammered. "That's very different...but it isn't all bad." She said, and Lesley cringed.

"Well, I have to shower," Lesley said, now that the truth was out and that there was nothing left to anxiously anticipate. "No one in the officer's mess is going to appreciate the fragrance of decaying flesh-"

"No need to be graphic," Anna scolded, half-smiling. "Good-bye, dear." Then, on an added note, stopping before she went to turn off the computer. "I'd like to meet this Spock of yours."

Lesley's cheeks, which had settled to a light pink, now escalated to a feverish red. Her mother laughed optimistically as the computer screen faded to black. _Onto the shower_, Lesley thought, throwing her clothes on the floor as she neared the bathroom.

The officer's mess was only a few paces away, Spock's uniform footsteps made their was to the entrance with ease. That was why Lesley had seemed so agitated upon leaving the laboratory. Spock heard everything through the wall; he didn't like to think of it as eavesdropping, it was his refined sense of hearing. At least, that was how he justified it. He could tell that she had a strong connection with her mother, similar to his own connection to his mother. Entering the room, he set his posture straight, neutralized his expression. At the table the bridge crew usually occupied, Jim and Bones sat, midway through their meal. Spock took his seat, enduring Jim's signature smirk. Bewildered, the Vulcan moved his eyes over to McCoy. As always, the doctor seemed furious about something, and Spock couldn't help but feel as if McCoy always focused his anger on him.

"So," Jim began, successfully grabbing Spock's attention. "How are you and Dr. Ray doing?" The smile broadened malevolently. Spock looked obliviously from the Captain to McCoy and back to the Captain again.

"I am fine. Dr. Ray is seemingly in good spirits as well." He replied, staring at the Captain with something like contempt. Jim's antagonistic spirit fell a bit. Whatever Jim was reaching out for, Spock was not giving.

"You know what I meant." Jim huffed, exasperated. Spock raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I meant-" He started, when Lesley walked into the officer's mess, her hair still damp, but left down, Spock noticed, per his request. She strode over to the bridge crew table sat across from Spock, careful to keep her mouth from forming into a little-girl grin. As far as she knew, they were not going public about their relationship. Spock's posture was suddenly caught between a his usual rigidness and the informal slight slouch that he took on when he was around Lesley. He kept his straight posture, and she quietly regarded it as a sign that there was to be no show of affection, however subtle.

"Well, how was your day, Lesley?" Jim asked, out of nowhere, and she nodded a bit, as if considering.

"Oh, it went swimmingly. You know, the usual, stirring a vat of dead Orion." Came her sarcastic remark. Spock raised one eyebrow yet again, that seemed to be the only way he outwardly showed any emotion whatsoever.

"You know as well as I do that boiling a corpse is a most unusual activity, Lesley." He said without emotion, but she recognized the underlying jocularity, hidden deep. She raised her eyes to look at him.

"Are you certain? I thought it was perfectly normal." Her tone was a sincere deadpan. Spock caught on, however, there was a certain look about him; his eyes contained a sliver of mischief. Jim couldn't believe what he was seeing. His first officer was teasing Lesley back. It was downright unfathomable, although so underhanded that it almost went by undetected. The pair rose and went to a replicator.

After dinner, Spock accompanied her back to her quarters.

"Captain Kirk is very adamant in the assumption that we are in a relationship." He explained, and her fingers paused over the buttons she nearly pressed in order to gain access to her room. She quizzically glanced at him.

"Oh." She simply stated, shrugging. Then, quietly: "Are we in a relationship?"

His head tilted about two degrees as he stepped over closer to her. She matched his stare, her head tilting as well, and a piece of her hair fell lightly onto her cheek. Spock reached over and brushed it behind her ear, feeling lean softly into his touch as his hand ghosted across her cheek.

"We are, T'hy'la." He said in a breath, meant only for her to hear, sounding as if he was explaining it to her for the thousandth time. She sighed, a note of frustration puncturing the sweet air.

"You sometimes…just act differently toward me in front of them. It's gotten better. A little." She interjected, finally punching the security code into the number pad near her door. The doors shot open and she walked in, throwing her briefcase down onto her bed. He followed her tentatively into the room.

"It is a different atmosphere when we are around Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy, as I am assuming that they are the 'them' you are referring to," He paused, and Lesley silently cursed herself as a trace of pink rose to her cheeks. Spock could never fail to make her blush like a teenager. "They are my colleagues, our private matters are not for them to know." He murmured, placing his hands on her shoulders. Lesley nodded, almost ashamed, understanding. "I am looking forward to meeting your mother," He carried on, grasping her attention. "It will be quite invigorating to hear of your childhood in Maine."

She sent him a critical look. It slowly dissolved from her face as she realized that he actually _did_ want to meet her mother. He was being serious, very serious. Lesley would be damned if she wasn't in a relationship.

"You have such a variety of facial expressions, my ashaya." He observed before planting a kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes and kissed back, but before she could draw away, Spock's hands gently fluttered toward her temples, and his middle and index fingers rested there.

Spock sorted through her memories quickly; much like her laboratory, they were organized and compartmentalized.

_Fascinating._

Lesley heard his voice, he spoke, but his lips did not leave hers. _Strange,_ She thought, and brushed it off as her imagination.

_Perhaps to you. I forget that this is new to you. _His voice again.

_That's it then. I've finally gone completely insane. _She said to herself, pondering a moment. It was plausible, considering her outrageous number of giggle-fits lately and her increasingly twisted sense of humor.

_No, you are sane._ Spock assured her. _It is a mind-meld, in human terms. _She opened her eyes for a moment and stared into his, that were fully open and considering her. There was a shuffling feeling, and she finally figured out that he was reviewing all of her memories. A swooping feeling of injustice interrupted Spock's intrusion.

_That's not fair,_ Her voice was childish and petulant in his mind. _If you get to go through my memories, then it's only justifiable that I go through yours. _Her lips parted from his and formed into a tiny pout.

_In time, _He responded, still rifling through the thoughts, and caught her lips with his once again. It was so _fascinating. _

A "nor'easter", as she remembered it, had hit her hometown when she was seven, the snow had been cold on her face, and her mother had taken her ice skating.

She had been extremely nervous while getting briefed about her time on the Enterprise. Her eyes fell to Spock, and saw how he had been sitting, not even three days ago, upright and stiff. An internal melting feeling began in her chest…

Now would be the real test, to see if she was actually his T'hy'la. He removed his hands from her head. She raised her eyebrows, unsure of his actions.

_If you are my T'hy'la, you will hear me after we have physically parted. _

_ Oh. _Was her response. An involuntary smile lit his face for just a moment. His assumptions had been well-founded. Then, he heard the realization slap her. _Oh._

At least he seemed pleased about it. She shrugged, and he noted with some concern her mixed feelings, a conglomerate of happiness and anxiety. He swept her cheekbone with his finger.

_I did not know what you felt at first, _He said, sounding both triumphant and amused. Confusion momentarily clouded her mind. What could he have been referring to?

_What?_ She asked, wondering where he was going with this.

_I have forgotten the human term. In Vulcan, it is called shan'hal'lak, which translates to 'the Engulfment.'" _

Lesley's heart began to beat wildly in her chest. It was hard for her to believe that he would ever reciprocate her feelings. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down, clearing her throat to speak.

"Love at first sight. That's the human term." She licked her lips. "And I always thought it was so naïve to fall in love; so shallow and repulsive to decide on a whim like that. But," She shrugged once more. "Here I am. Rather hypocritical, isn't it?"

"You are over-analyzing yourself, Lesley. One cannot judge others until they have been in the same situation." He replied, and he saw her head fall to her shoes and her smile grow wan again, her cheeks darkening. "It would be logical to retire for the evening and talk more on the subject when we have awakened." He suggested, to which she nodded, and peace and exhaustion surged through the both of them.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for all your support through reviews, and<strong> **thanks to all who have subscribed to and favorited this story. Reveiws are always appreciated. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

A week had passed; Jim began noticing strange mannerisms of both Spock and Lesley. She had started saying "Fascinating," he occasionally used dry, thinly-veiled sarcasm when replying to questions. Another thing that perplexed the rest of the bridge crew was how they sat in a companionable silence in the officer's mess, either quietly reading, taking notes, or eating, and they would make eye contact and slightly nod to each other.

It was as if they were having unspoken, private conversations.

And Jim Kirk hated privacy, unless it was his own. His constant prying to find out what they were doing was useless; they weren't giving up any information.

On Friday night at dinner, he strolled by; and the lack of conversation was unsettling.

"What'cha _doin'_?" He asked them, cocking his head and leering with childlike curiosity. Lesley jumped, as if startled, and glared at him, as if he had _interrupted something_. The look disturbed him the most of all, there was definitely something going on between them. Spock's face abruptly turned toward the speaker.

"Reading," Lesley snapped, flipping the page of her book. Spock tapped around on the PADD, and they peered at one another. Jim nodded, brushing over her irritability, and walked over to Bones.

"God, they're becoming more and more like each other." The Captain commented, and Bones nodded in agreement. The Vulcan and the woman were silent once more, and exchanged furtive looks across the table.

Lesley had to drag herself out of bed on Monday morning, and groaning, she got dressed. The Vulcan High Council was meeting today. Small anxiety fluttered in her chest as she made her way to the bathroom and began to brush her hair. Ensuring that there would be no disasters, she liberally sprayed on hairspray after fixing it in a bun. Telling her self that good grooming would give a positive first impression, she settled on a pair of earrings. She left her quarters, grabbing her briefcase on the way out and heading to Conference Room A, stopping in at the officer's mess only to get a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice.

Spock had risen before she had and met with his father, as the Vulcan High Council had arrived late in the evening, and he hadn't gotten to see his father. Spock sat in the conference room, consulting him, feeling the dread bloom in Lesley, which increased in intensity as she approached the room. Captain Kirk entered from the door on the south wall, formally saluting each council member. A long period of hushed anticipation followed once the Captain took a seat; they were all waiting on Lesley.

_Relax,_ Spock told her, nearly sounding like a reprimand, but all he could read off of her was: _Goddammit, I'll fuck this up. _and a deep, sinking feeling in her chest.

She finally opened the door.

Numerous Vulcan faces all stared at her in unison, which did absolutely nothing to quell her anxiety.

She offered a clam smile, much like the one she started out with when she'd first lectured, and gave the appropriate salute.

"Dr. Ray." Sarek stated in his trademark monotone.

"Ambassador," Lesley replied, matching the formal atmosphere of the occasion. Spock had an inkling that his father knew that there was something between him and Lesley. She seated herself across from the Ambassador and next to Spock at the long table, and pulled the PADD out of her briefcase, turning it on and pulling up a file.

"As you know, we are still unresolved about the colonization prospect on planet Theta-920." Sarek said, and she nodded brusquely.

"Yes. Information that I have collected actually provides some positive insight into this dilemma. The soil collected from a probe we sent has been analyzed by a botanical expert to see whether or not certain crops will grow. Studies have shown that the soil is rich and will provide well, an obvious necessity to promote population growth. We have yet to land and make contact with any life forms, if there are any. Landing is scheduled to occur in three days, if you wish to accompany us." Lesley finished, and Sarek steepled his fingers on his chest.

"Very good. We shall accompany you onto planet Theta-920." He responded, and the meeting was over. Lesley, feeling awkward and out-of-place, tapped around absent-mindedly on the PADD. "Now if you will pardon me," Sarek's deep voice boomed. "I would like to have a word with my son."

Lesley's eyes flickered from Sarek to Spock.

She should've seen the resemblance before, it was so obvious. Although Spock's features were softer, they still retained their chiseled influence from Sarek.

Amusement filtered over to her from Spock, and she gave him what she perceived to be a secret look and left the room, as everyone else had. Of course, nothing had slipped under Sarek's observant gaze. Was this the woman his son held affection for? She was intelligent enough, and seemingly neat and organized.

"Spock," Sarek began, searching through his mind, attempting to put his words into the best phrase possible.

"Father," Spock said submissively, looking up to the man who had raised him, who knew him better than anyone, now that Amanda was gone. Sarek cleared his throat; an uneasy, prickly sensation started on the back of Spock's neck.

"I see you have an interest." Sarek finally interjected, after a few moments of tense silence. He clasped his hands together and leaned back in the chair. :Is this a permanent matter?" Spock jutted his jaw toward the wall uncertainly.

"I am not sure of what is meant by a 'permanent matter.'" The younger half-Vulcan countered. Sarek stared straight on at his son.

"It is my belief that you can comprehend exactly what I meant, but I shall rephrase it for you." The amabassador steepled his fingers again, then pressed them to his lips, it seemed as if he as contemplating something. "Do you think that you have found your T'hy'la?" Spock's cheeks became a bit more green, but his face remained stern. Discussing these matters with his father was not exactly one of his favorite pastimes.

"Yes." He replied, without missing a beat. In the very back of his mind, Sarek had a vague sense of wonder. Was his behavior similar to his son's upon meeting Amanda? Perhaps. _What a perplexing influence these human women seem to have on us,_ Sarek pondered, considering his son, whose blush had faded.

"What is her name?" Sarek asked simply, nearly non-chalantly. Spock exhaled slowly, knowing that Amanda would have been unspeakably excited for him.

"Lesley Ray." Spock whispered. Sarek nodded steadily.

"A human name. I look forward to talking with her on a more personal level, and also a formal introduction to me tonight." His father murmured, the implication of publicizing their relationship subtle, but present.

The two males stared at each other for a bit, then both left Conference Room A, starting down the long corridor in opposite directions. Spock found himself treading toward Lesley's quarters, entering the pass code that he'd seen her dexterous fingers punch in many times before, and walked in as the doors slid open. She was sitting at her desk, on her computer.

"…and not only that, but all the filing that must be done is so very meticulous, it's enough to make me ill…" Lesley trailed off, watching her mother's face change on the screen, from the usual general interest to one of pure surprise. Disconcerting, how Anna appeared to be looking behind her.

"Mom, what are you looking at?" She asked, swiveling the chair to follow her mother's gaze.

_Damn it all._ Lesley cursed in her mind. Spock simply gave her a nuanced expression.

_I hardly find it logical or appropriate to use profanity in the presence of your mother, Lesley. _Came his retort.

"You must be Spock." The woman on the screen said. "Lesley has told me so much about you. I'm Anna, her mother." Anna waved; she appeared to be in her early fifties, some age beginning to show.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ray." Spock responded, saluting her, to which she chuckled. Lesley's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he felt fury radiate off of her.

"My, is that what they're doing nowadays? You certainly are a delightful creature." Lesley's mother commented, attempting to force her fingers into a convoluted Vulcan salute.

Lesley had never wanted to destroy a computer more than she did now, clenching her fists tightly to keep from doing so.

_Keep calm. _Spock chided. _ I can tell that your mother has never experienced meetin a different species._ He furtively reached down and clasped her hand, feeling her become tranquil once more.

"Yes, well, the lab won't clean itself," Lesley said, her tone happy-go-lucky and sardonically carefree. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Mom."

"Bye Lesley-dear, I hope to see you soon, Commander Spock." Anna said and the screen faded to black.

Lesley turned off the computer, then faced him, and buried her head in her hands.

"I'm so sorry." She said, however, he didn't seem upset by anything, but the damage was done. Anna had successfully humiliated her daughter.

"It is fine." Spock said softly, removing her hands from her face and taking them in his own. "Your mother is very…very unique." His thumb fondly grazed the back of her hand, and she angled her head upward, smiling ruefully.

"Very much so." She replied, and he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. _I have never regretted giving my security code to you more. _Her thoughts floated seamlessly into his; she felt him smile a little into the kiss.

They parted their lips and she leaned against his shoulder for a while. The quiet was peaceful, he sensed her restful mood and concentrated deeply on keeping the memory of Sarek's conversation from her.

_What are you hiding?_ She asked, giving him a knowing look. Lesley leaned back into her chair and folded her arms. He finally relented, letting her be privy to the conversation between him and his father. The relaxed look on her face suddenly became stressed

"When were you planning on informing me of this?" She questioned, suddenly livid.

"I did not believe it logical to-" He started quietly, but she shot him a glare. Spock closed his mouth, but stared at her, unfazed.

"You didn't 'believe it logical' to tell me the I had to meet your father tonight? Unbelievable." Fury permeated her tone. It would be logical for her to recollect herself before he made his next statement.

"You had not informed me that I would be meeting your mother." Spock shot back, and her angry expression slowly gave way to a sullen pout.

"That's entirely different. It wasn't premeditated at all." She muttered, and her eyes darted over to his face. He was wearing that slightly amused expression, one eyebrow raised and a small smile broke through his usual hardened countenance. It made her want to slap his face, which probably wouldn't even hurt him, but she couldn't bring herself to.

"You are implying that it was unintended for me to talk with her; exactly when were you planning on introducing us?" He asked, seeing her face get red. The clock behind her read about eighteen-hundred hours.

"Enough of this," He dismissed his own question. Although he loved her, he was still the Commander of the ship. "My father is expecting us in the banquet hall by nineteen-hundred hours. I will enjoy your presence." He walked over to her; she was agape with a mixture of shock and anger. Spock used this to his advantage, kissing her on the mouth, ending the kiss much to soon for her taste, then leaving.

Lesley folded her arms and threw herself on the bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. A vile cocktail of love, fury, passion, and attraction ravaged her mind. These feelings had not surfaced in Lesley since she was a teenager; she hadn't thrown such a tantrum since then either.

_Calm down._ Spock ordered. _It is not logical for you to give an emotionally volatile first impression to my father._

_ You again. _Was her cynical reply. _Fine. _She sniffed. _What should I even wear?_

Spock rolled his eyes as he entered his own quarters. Had his mother ever asked this question before? _It would be logical to be well-dressed and groomed immaculately._ He responded and sat down to meditate.

Lesley started out by tearing apart her once-organized closet, laying clothes on the bed, checking to see if this shirt matched these shoes. The only civilian clothing she had packed was a few casual outfits, a formal dress, and something corporate casual. The dress would be too formal, she reasoned, so she picked out her pencil skirt and tucked her uniform shirt in. She caught a glimpse of the clock as she put away all the clothes she's thrown on the bed.

Nearly six-thirty. How could she have wasted so much time Lesley hung her clothes back up and started on her hair.

She stared at herself in the mirror and grabbed a brush. The bun had stayed relatively in tact, but she took it out, brushed her hair, and re-did it anyway. Spock did say immaculate. Shiny black pumps took their place on her feet, she put on a different pair of earrings and a necklace. The doors retracted then closed behind her as she left.

Spock was already waiting out in the hallway. Her thoughts got fuzzy when she saw him; and all at once she was elated that she had been able to take that clunky boot off early, her ankle had healed well. They walked down the corridor without conversation. Although Spock sensed Lesley's attraction to him, he could tell that she was still a bit upset with him. He pondered on lecturing her about how illogical it was to stay angry and remain as such in front of his father, but she was not in a mood to be lectured. And if he even tried to chide her, there would be absolutely no chance of even speaking to her within the next week. She was so temperamental, yet so fascinating.

He exhaled noticeably, and her anger dissolved. Lesley should have known that she wouldn't be able to stay upset with him. The door to the private dining room shot open and they walked through. Spock offered her his hand, and she placed hers in it and laced her fingers in with his.

Sarek was sitting at the table and rose his head to view the couple. His son, neat and restrained as ever, was holding the hand of the xenoanthropologist. He scrutinized her appearance; her hair was tidy, she was clean, and her clothing was relatively free of wrinkles. In her high-heels she was as tall as Spock, meaning that without them, she was over average height for a human woman, yet shorter than his son. Her expression was in a careful, neutral stage, which Sarek noticed she kept with some difficulty; the corners of her lips always seemed tempted to smile, much like Amanda's were when Sarek rarely grasped her hand in public.

"Father," Spock drew Lesley a bit closer. "I'd like you to meet my T'hy'la, Lesley Ray.

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><p><strong>Reviews=love. Thanks everyone. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

"It is a pleasure to meet you as a member of my family." Sarek said, even though his face did not reveal any such emotion; he looked as demure as ever. Lesley felt a smile spread on her face, then quickly let it fall. _Stupid,_ She reminded herself. _No emotion. _

_Illogically critical. _Spock concluded, and she stopped herself just short of rolling her eyes at him. Having a peanut gallery in her thoughts could be so irritating.

"Thank you, Ambassador." Lesley replied, and Sarek raised one eyebrow about a centimeter from its usual placement. She recognized it immediately as Spock's amused expression.

_So that's where you get it from. _She teased, feeling something like wonder, and at once was bombarded by his emotion. Shocking, for once, she had embarrassed him.

"Please, Lesley. It is hardly appropriate and highly illogical to use my title, now that we are on a 'first-name-basis.' You may call me Sarek." The Vulcan offered, and she nodded. A few strands of hair somehow managed to free themselves from her bun and she patted them down behind her ears. _Dammit. _

The couple sat down at the table. A cook brought out silver, covered trays and Vulcan dishes were revealed. She chose rice and plomeek soup. Spock had been complaining lately about her carnivorous habits, trying to persuade her to become a vegetarian. When she had asked why, he somewhat sheepishly explained that he preferred kissing a mouth that did not taste of dead animals.

"I have noticed how close the bond between you is." Sarek mentioned over dinner. "It is not unusual. However, have you finalized your bonding?"

Lesley returned his question with a blank stare, feeling another wave of Spock's embarrassment. _You hypocrite. Now stop it._ She demanded, trying to organize their collective thoughts. She inhaled before speaking, mulling over and processing Sarek's question.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sarek." She replied, and for a moment, a hint of inhibition showed on the elder Vulcan's face.

"I meant to say, have the two of you bonded…physically yet?" Sarek asked.

A small spell of absolute silence fell over the room. Lesley frantically pushed Spock's dying shame out of the way, examining and cross-examining the question. Realization soon knocked her to the ground. Her eyes grew wide and her face turned a violent shade of scarlet.

"Father," Spock began, his tone strained. "The human culture is very sensitive about these matters-"

"Illogically so." Sarek commented, seeming amused at how increasingly flustered his son was becoming.

"No." Lesley flatly stated, and Sarek raised his eyebrows gently.

"It is logical that you do so in a timely manner." He informed her. "It is rather odd that you seemed to bond in reverse order; usually many couples first bond physically then mentally." Sarek looked to the clock. " Nearly time to retire. I shall see you both in the morning."

Lesley felt herself get up with Spock in a daze and leave the room, and they walked down the hallway.

"Spock," Lesley said, turning her face toward him as they neared their quarters, her voice tiny and quiet.

"Yes, Lesley?" He responded, looking back at her, then fondly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Did your father suggest that we-"

"Yes, Lesley." He repeated, his expression turning solemn. The air was arid outside of their rooms, Lesley tugged at the collar of her shirt, suddenly feeling like a shy adolescent again.

"Oh." Her voice was a pinprick in the still atmosphere. Spock smiled at her sensuously, and the butterflies that were dancing in her stomach threatened to escape, up her esophagus and out of her mouth. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips, which grew more impassioned as the seconds ticked away. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Spock open his door. He drove her into his room, finally stopping when he reached the north wall, propping her up against it.

A flurry of things began to take place; Lesley remembered it in snapshots.

He gently tugged her hair out of the bun, let it flounce around her shoulders then reached under her skirt and pulled off her stockings. She'd already kicked off her pumps, they were thrown carelessly across the room.

At the next instant, she realized that the both of them were only in their underclothes. She was shoved down on the bed, but leaned up to kiss him. A thought dawned on her: she always wondered what the point of his ears would feel like under her fingertip. Her hand pretended to muss his hair, he was working furiously to unlatch her brassiere, and she lightly caressed the point. She had read somewhere that ears were one of the most sensitive parts of a Vulcan. He shuddered and let out a low growl, pinning her back down to the bed.

Lesley awoke the next morning a bit early; the alarm didn't have the chance to ring in the new day yet. At first it was a bit confusing; her pictures were no where to be found, her bookshelf didn't contain the familiar titles she knew and loved…

Memories of the prior night poured into her mind, all the different feelings he had elicited in her. She moved to rise, but felt a small tug at her waist.

Spock had his arm wrapped possessively around her, and she smiled. His body was warm against hers, and the early-morning haze in her head persuaded her to embrace sleep. She closed her eyes until the alarm shrieked in her eardrum and she felt Spock stir beside her. He tugged her closer again when she moved to get up, and she ceased her movement long enough to let him kiss the nape of her neck, and then resumed going through the motions of waking up. He imitated her actions, unabashed about his nakedness, and went to the water closet. There was a sound of running water in the otherwise quiet morning. Lesley had already begun to change. In a stupor, she out on her heels and skirt and stockings, then grabbed a random shirt laying on the floor, and pulled it on as she exited the room, returning to her quarters to bathe.

It was only when Lesley arrived at her bathroom that she realized the shirt she wore was at least a size too big on her. She sighed, stripping and turning on the water.

After getting out of the shower, Lesley checked her closet for another uniform shirt.

_Damn it._ _This would happen. _

All of her uniforms were in the laundry. Spock's shirt would have to suffice.

Spock dressed quickly; they hadn't exactly been efficient with their time, and picked through the clothing discarded on the floor. He checked the size of the familiar-looking blue shirt.

A ladies' medium. Illogically, Lesley forgot to take her shirt, and must've taken his. Or she had been confused. Whatever the reason, he grabbed another shirt from his closet, and went to the officer's mess.

Lesley met him there, and he almost wanted to laugh at the sight of her. The shirt was much too large; she had to tuck it into her pants and roll up the sleeves about three times. The table was quiet until they arrived.

"Oh, I knew it." Jim said, rising from his seat, sporting a complacent look. "I knew it, I knew it." He sat back down and leaned into his chair, his hands placed triumphantly behind his head. Lesley looked at him a moment, then back down to her hands, which were busy breaking an orange into sections.

"Knew what?" She whispered, only her eyes darting back up to meet his. Bones sat, unusually tranquil, watching the entire scene unfold, seemingly deriving some sort of twisted entertainment from seeing the two squirm.

_You know very well what he is insinuating. _She heard Spock, using their silent link, how he preferred to communicate in public. Although he remained neutral, his body language around her had changed; not just in private but in public this time too. His imperious posture was still present, but he inched closer to her, and around her, his movements were gentle and deliberate.

Jim smirked like a kid who had pulled a prank that he thought to be hilarious.

"That you two were-" He began, but was cut short by a piercing glare from the Vulcan. Never before had Jim been given such a look, and he never wanted to receive one again

"I have told you before, Captain, it is not a priority of yours to seek out information on the relationship between Dr. Ray and I." Spock coldly informed him.

_No need to be so harsh. _Lesley pointed out and he turned to her. The pair was silent for what seemed like hours, then finally finished their breakfast and headed out to the lab. As soon as the lab doors closed securely behind them and their was sufficient privacy, Spock began to speak, walking up behind her as she sorted through a few more unclassified skulls.

"Why did you illogically steal from my quarters this morning?" He wondered aloud, but kept it soft, for her to hear. His lips wandered to the small place behind her ear where her neck and jaw met. Lesley brushed a piece of hair behind her ear and shrugged lightly.

"I needed to shower." She said emotionlessly, which fazed him a bit. It was unlike her to be without any emotion.

"You could have bathed in my quarters," He told her, sounding more than just a bit put-out. In fact, his tone was downright pouty. Lesley burst out laughing. He remained somber, but gazed upon her with disdain. She quieted down enough to explain herself.

"I don't mean to offend, I just…" Her laughter had completely left, the jovial brightness gone from her face. "That's…that's very intimate, wouldn't you think?"

Her faulty reasoning was met with another meaningful look, and Spock glided up next to her.

"T'hy'la, you are being most illogical." He placed his hand on her back, tracing it along her shoulder blades. "You think it would be somehow more intimate to make use of my bathroom after we have already-"

Lesley blushed and frowned, quickly meeting his stare.

"Anyone could come through these doors," She hissed, and he returned her ill-temperedness with a knowing view.

"Do not be illogical," He scolded. "We are forever bonded; there is no need to feel unfamiliar. You are free to make use of my quarters."

Her hand planted itself on her hip, she bit her lip ever so slightly. She was taken aback to say the least, unsure if her was being serious or not. So, she chose her words carefully.

"I'm not entirely sure how to interpret-" She started, but he interrupted her.

"I mean to say that you may 'move in,' in human terms.


	7. Chapter 7

Lesley curled up in the chair in Spock's quarters, which she repeatedly reminded herself were "their" quarters, instead of hers or his it was "ours." That was always the difficult thing about relationships, she had to learn a whole new vocabulary. Her books filled the empty spaces on his bookshelf, likewise, her pictures did the same to the walls, but she hung them where they couldn't be seen from the bed. No need to be uncomfortable. She had pushed his clothes over in the closet to make room for hers, moved all her toiletries into his bathroom.

She rose and folded her arms, inspecting her work. No feminine touches could really be added, the quarters had a generally masculine feel. Starfleet frowned upon relationships between coworkers, especially between a superior such as the Commander and a specialist, but what was done was done. Lesley felt more synced and in place with the new environment now; she found it was easier to fall in line when someone loved her. She supposed it was love, because what else could it be? Spock had completely done away with the "casual relationship" mindset. Vulcans never half-assed things, whether it was the acceptance of logic and purging of emotion or finding a mate. Research that she'd done in secret revealed that once a couple had bonded fully, they were considered to be married, even without the legal ritual. Her left ring finger remained sans band, but she got the sense that he knew.

He was still supervising another project, incidentally the colonization preparations. _Ugh. _That was entirely different endeavor. After the taxing day, it made her head hurt to even consider it. So Lesley curled up in the chair that sat in the corner with a book and waited for him to come back. It was chilly up in the ship, an element of intergalactic travel that she did not particularly care for. The only time she felt warm was in bed with Spock. Speaking of which, her laundry had been delivered to her quarters before she transferred over a door, thank god, and a better-fitting shirt made it easier to do every day tasks. Just the same, she enjoyed wearing it, being immersed in his scent, which was something she couldn't really identify, but it was organic and slightly acidic.

Before she could stop herself, she abandoned the dismal setting of Frankenstein and walked over to the closet, opening it with some hesitation. A Starfleet Academy sweatshirt hung there, one which he rarely wore. She gently coaxed it off of the hanger and slipped it over her head. Now she was marginally warmer than she had been, and surrounded by his smell, an altogether winning combination.

Lesley sighed. He had taught at the Academy, obviously, which made him at least six years older than her.

And what a scandal it was causing; over lunch Jim had informed them that they were the talk of the ship.

"Why?" Lesley had asked, dabbing delicately at her mouth with a napkin, Spock at her side, surreptitiously grasping his hand under the table. Jim at first returned her answer with a sneer. After receiving a blank look from the two, it slowly dropped from his face.

"You know, I have never in my days met a couple with less friggin' self awareness…" McCoy began to ramble, and per usual, everyone else tuned him out.

"I really hope you two aren't serious." Jim had toned his voice down a notch, his face caught between contempt and pity.

"I do not understand what you are implying." Spock, although he was deadpan, drew Lesley's hand closer to him under the table. Bones spat out his coffee, laughing; Jim thumped him on the back, glaring at them with disbelief.

"You've gotta be kidding me. Stop trying to pretend that you aren't together. It's so painfully obvious-"

"It's so loudly obvious." Bones commented, as soon as he finished his laughing fit.

"What?" Lesley asked, feeling slow and not looking forward to seeing where this was going, exchanging a short, significant stare with Spock, who seemed equally lost.

"My God, when you two want to have a little fun, just keep it down in there. You two damn near woke up the entire ship." McCoy punctuated his sentences by sipping his coffee. Lesley's face flushed red, and Spock's expression deflated completely.

"But hey, it's good to know you're getting some tail around here." As Jim winked at his First Officer, the utter mortification diffused into Lesley's brain.

"Captain Kirk, it is highly inappropriate to be discussing this, taking into account the fact that you are being quite hypocritical, as you are never quiet, much less with the same person." The Vulcan was serious, and the intended venom stung Jim.

"Spock, please," Lesley pleaded. He could be so _abrasive_ at times, either unwittingly or on purpose. Even if the Captain was promiscuous, there was no need for Spock to be so defensive. He was very private about their habits, at least he was trying to fend for them both…

The doors sliding open drew her attention back to the present. Apparently, while she was considering the earlier events of the day, she had gone back to the chair and picked up the book. Spock walked through the doors and she rose to embrace him. He held her close, a familiar fabric grazing his fingertips. She wore his old sweater from his days as a professor at the Academy. A small smile appeared on his face.

"I am assuming that you enjoy wearing my garments. Correct?" He asked. She nodded, hoping that he wouldn't take offense to her wearing it. She quickly analyzed his face; he certainly wasn't upset about it, to her relief.

"It's always so cold in space." She justified, turning and walking back to the chair, flopping down on it and picking up the book yet again. "I hope you don't mind."

"No," He followed her, sitting on one arm of the seat. "It is logical, if you are cold." He was careful in choosing his words, he liked the look of her in his clothes; it was very _cute_, as humans often said, but it also satisfied him on a more primal level, that she not only trusted him, but wanted a reminder of him when he was not there. A few loose hairs trickled down from the nape of her neck., he played with them practically absent-mindedly. "What are you reading?" He rested his chin on her shoulder and she turned to him.

"Frankenstein." She replied. "About a man who unintentionally creates a monster and lives with the consequences of doing so. Set in the early nineteenth century." His eyes briefly scanned the page she was on.

"Fascinating, yet illogical." He said quietly. "I doubt that technology was advanced enough to do that at that time on Earth." Her cheek pressed closer to his as she grinned.

"It's just for entertainment purposes. It was written by a woman as well, which was rather unusual back then on Earth. You could borrow it after I finish. It's very…" She struggled for the correct word. "…maudlin, although I think there's enough scientific and technical themes that you'll enjoy it."

Lesley had read the book over and over and hadn't gotten sick of it yet, so Spock could probably stand to read it once. She resumed reading and they sat in a companionable silence. He kissed her on the cheek.

_T'hy'la, I have missed you all day._

_We were only apart for three hours, Spock._ She reminded him. _Don't be silly._

_If you insist that I am being 'silly', then I have missed you for approximately three hours. _He sounded sullen in his thoughts , and she put the book down and pressed her lips to his. His tongue requested entrance, which she willingly gave.

In the midst of this, they had not heard the door open, even with Spock's defined hearing.

"Well damn. Am I interrupting something?"

The kiss ended sharply, Spock patting down his mussed hair. Captain Kirk was leering at them from the doorway.

"No, we were just reading. Why?" She asked. For Lesley, it was much easier to deny the kiss had even happened with the Captain present, which only caused his sardonic smile to broaden. The tips of Spock's ears were bright green; for once, the Commander could not combat the Captain with logic.

"Lesley, please. If that was reading, my grades would have been straight-A's in high school." Kirk replied, rolling his eyes. "But, I just wanted to tell you that we're landing on Theta-920 tomorrow morning." He sauntered out of the room. _Theta-920 my ass._ He thought, smirking. His main objective, catching Spock in the act, had been semi-fulfilled He had gone into their room just to see what was happening, and couldn't think of anything to say once he got there. Looked like they'd shacked up together. Well, good for them.

"Ugh." Lesley sunk into the chair. Spock crossed the room, peeking out of the doorway, then locking it securely. "Is he usually like that?" She asked, and he turned around and nodded.

"Yes. Captain Kirk illogically interferes in everything." Spock answered. "Though he is the Captain of the ship, he uses his status at times for his own benefit."

Suddenly Lesley sprung up from her chair and put the book back on the shelf. An uneasy silence had fallen over them.

"Spock," Lesley started, and he looked over to her. At that moment she noticed how lovely he was, how his features contained a certain regality about them. "Are we married?" It was hard to fathom, both that he would marry her and that she had gotten married within a few weeks of meeting him.

The Vulcan sighed, and moved to her. In his common gesture of fondness, he brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

"Yes." He responded. "Now you are my _aduna ,_my wife." Uncertainty was prevalent on her face.

"I've researched it. The bond begins at age seven." She countered, and he patiently traced the whorl of her hear with his fingertip, and spoke once more, almost exasperated.

"Yes, it does. My betrothed died in the Romulan genocide of Vulcan. After death, the bond is broken, and the living partner may choose another."

"Oh. I'm sorry." She replied, and he pressed his cheek to hers.

"It is illogical to be sorry for an incident that you had no fault in." He responded, his breath bouncing off her cheek and making shivers trickle down her spine.

"No, I meant…I'm sad for you, that you had to go through that. It's terrible to lose one person you love, but two? That's even worse." Lesley actually considered that to be an understatement, losing someone you loved was like playing a demented roulette wheel, and losing two was like winning the lottery of depression.

He said nothing, but held onto her, the stillness and nearness of her providing solace. Her fragrance permeated his nostrils, she latched onto him and kept him warm.

"Let us rest." He finally said, exhaling noticeably. "Tomorrow will be very demanding." Lesley was more than happy to sink into the bed, with Spock at her side.

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><p><strong>Thanks for all your reviews and support. :) If anyone wants to see anything in particular, let me know and I'll consider it. <strong>


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as Lesley stepped foot on Theta-920, she hated it. It was a desert planet, akin to Mars with a different atmosphere, more rich in oxygen and nitrogen. The heat was excruciating as well. Even in the shade it was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The entire scene reminded her of a post-apocalyptic novel.

"Jesus." Kirk said, wiping sweat off of his brow as soon as his foot touched down on the yellow dust that was the soil. The entire crew looked out to the desolate horizon, showing no signs of civilization whatsoever, no buildings, crude shelters, or even the tents of a nomadic tribe.

"The temperature is similar to the temperature of Vulcan." Spock noted, and Lesley nodded, taking notes in her steno pad, trotting alongside him. Occasionally she would blink rapidly and clutch her head, only when she was sure he wasn't watching.

_The damned heat,_ She reasoned. _That's what's doing it to me. _

Sarek observed the pair from a distance. They seemed to work well with one another, and certainly appeared to be enamored with each other at times. He scanned the area carefully to see if anyone was near, then let a small, secretive smile touch his mouth.

Lesley moved to go back and report to Jim, when she tripped over a small protrusion in the yellow sand and tumbled to the ground.

"Lesley," Spock was so attentive, crouching near her, but she couldn't focus on him right now, there was something so deeply…unsettling about that small piece of matter embedded in the sand. She began to erratically clear away the soil with her hands until a whole object could be distinguished.

A humanoid skull poked out of the sand.

"Get me my field bag!" She ordered a cadet, who looked at her mistrustfully, as if she was taking things too seriously. She rolled her eyes at him. "Just go get the damn thing already!" She exclaimed. Little grains of sand rolled beneath her hands, irritating the skin, and she huffed. "Yeh'd think it wouldn't take 'em a gah-damned yeahr to find the friggin' thing." She muttered, her New England accent beginning to drip into her voice. It fascinated Spock, he hadn't heard her use any colloquialisms typical to the region in which she was raised. _Perplexing._ Perhaps it only occurred when she was annoyed.

_What's perplexing? _She wondered, looking up at him and momentarily ceasing her fitful disinterment of the skeleton.

_You. _He responded, to which she knitted her brows together almost disdainfully and resumed her task.

_Spock, really, not now. We're surrounded by people who will talk. _The cadet came back, flailing the bag around as he ran, then threw it down in front of her and sprinted to the rest of the surveying crew. How he managed to do that in the excessive heat, Lesley would never figure out. Taking out an assortment of spades and brushes, the complete skeleton was soon unearthed.

"Captain!" She called, and Jim shuffled over to them, sweat pouring down his face. "I've found something…disconcerting."

Jim panted, walking over, then took in the scene. A skeleton lay, grinning at his feet, and Lesley knelt beside its head, along with Spock.

"There aren't any signs of a ritualistic burial. In fact, it looks as if he just laid down and died." She elaborated, snapping photographs of it from different angles. "I would not recommend bringing it onto the ship. I mean, there's no evidence of wounds or struggle, suggesting that perhaps he died of natural causes. Although, a point even more disturbing, I've estimated his age to be approximately twenty-four in Earth years." Her mouth formed itself into a tight line, her demeanor was grave. A bead of sweat rolled down Jim's face and pooled on his shirt collar.

"So?" The Captain asked. Lesley looked at him, wide-eyed, and he swore that something like terror had rooted itself in her countenance.

"Captain, humanoids just don't go outdoors and die from natural causes. They make themselves comfortable. Look." She demanded, pointing to the bony hand, which held a shovel made of some foreign but bronze-like alloy. "He was working when he died. Something killed him, and from the lack of marks, I would say a deadly disease." She snapped another photograph on the PADD, her brow furrowed in disgust, but her outward appearance calm. _Shit. _Only she and Spock knew her internal feelings, how her heart was racing and her head was aching. "Probably one that could still be here."

"Back on the ship!" Jim yelled. "Everyone back; cease all activity immediately!"

The Vulcan High Council, the Bridge Crew, the Science Unit, and the surveying crew all filed back into the ship neatly and quickly. Stunned looks were common among the officers, and only when Jim spoke did a foreboding hush fall upon the room, energized by suspicious whispers.

"My fellow officers, I regret to inform you that we will not continue our expedition on Theta-920. We suspect that the previous inhabitants were killed by a plague. If anyone is having unusual symptoms, please report to sickbay."

Murmurs ruffled through the crowd, who were promptly dismissed to their stations and set about their next tasks.

Lesley walked to her lab, unsure and disoriented. There was talk of continuing the colonization efforts, but from Lesley's point of view, things looked pretty bleak. She sighed and scrunched her eyes shut. The slight headache that had lodged itself in her brain was now a full-blown migraine; every bit of light and each sound was an ice-pick into her head. Forcing herself to open her eyes, she considered the pictures on the PADD, scribbling a few notes down on the steno pad.

Lesley was thrown out of scholarly pursuits by the distinct, disturbing sound of gnashing teeth. It was soon hunted down to Charles' corner, where the skeleton was wired and suspended from a hook. Her pupils dilated as she viewed the repulsive thing in the corner. Charles was no longer suspended, he was standing upright, gnashing his teeth and cracking all of his joints, twisting them at unnatural angles and rolling his neck; and with a grotesque snap, he focused his empty eye sockets on Lesley.

She whimpered and backed into the wall as the skeleton neared her. Her eyes, alight with horror, seemed to dash everywhere and weren't able to focus, she was becoming increasingly light-headed.

"Hey there, Lesley-girl." The skeleton spoke with the voice of a stereotypical Mainer, picking its teeth with a sharp fingertip. "It's such a nice day, ayuh. Too bad you have to die."

"No! Go away! You aren't real!" She screamed, tearing at her hair with her hands and bashing her fists into the cabinet.

"Oh yes I am, my dear. My name's Mister Death, you know me well. And as soon as you come with me, everything you love will be carried away. Your mama and her piano, your job, even good 'ol Spocky-boy." The bones rattled when he took a step closer and poked her cheek with a bony finger. "I took your father away on a starship, and would you look at that, your turn!" It grinned mockingly at her. Lesley screamed and threw the steno pad at the bleached-white, sharp face.

"You son of a bitch!" Her heartbeat had escalated to a wild rate; her head felt ready to explode trying to process these insane auditory and visual cues. Everything was spinning, going one-hundred miles per hour in Lesley's mind, and she collapsed to the ground. She managed to skitter away from the skeleton, who clicked his teeth at her, and pushed her back to the opposite wall and pushed her fingertips to her eyes, willing the damnable thing to stop.

It was odd how these trivial things could break his practiced concentration. Spock found it nearly impossible to complete what he was doing with the furious ache ravaging his cranium. Lesley seemed to be in a similar state as well.

"Commander," A cadet stood before him, holding a PADD. "Commander-"

"What?" Spock asked, worn down to the breaking point. The cadet shrunk back in fear and slinked back to her station. The readings from Lesley were growing increasingly disturbing, she was going into something akin to delirium.

_You bastard, you fucking sonnabitch-_ The thoughts were not directed at him, thankfully, however, when they trailed off into incoherent babbling, a crease appeared in his forehead. There was a sudden loud report, which he assumed to be a scream. The Commander cringed outwardly as the pain coursed through his skull, then calmly left the science labs, and as soon as the door closed behind him, broke into a lope toward the xenoanthropolgy lab.

When Spock arrived there, Lesley was sitting on the floor. Her eyes twitched wildly, looking toward the corner, but not exactly at it; she looked _through_ it. Her hair was completely disheveled, and her fingernails dug into her thighs, her hands clenched into claw-like forms and her knuckles were bright white. A bead of drool settled in the corner of her mouth. He rushed over to her, and for one terrifying moment, he had absolutely no idea what to do.

"Lesley-" He started, but she turned her face to him and he closed his mouth in horror. The color was gone, drained from her face, and her eyes, large and glassy, looked beyond him, and seemed to drift in and out of focus, from him to whatever else she was visually experiencing.

"Spock." She whimpered. "Don't let him take me away. Don't let him take you away. Or any of this." Her expression was oddly blank, but at the same time, contained both panic and sadness. He crouched beside her, and pulled her fingernails out of their embedded place in her thigh. Upon further inspection, they were streaked with gore, blood and tiny strips of flesh from the intensity of her grip.

"No one will take you or I away." He assured her, massaging her hand and unwinding the knots in her muscles, finally feeling it relax. He spoke quickly into his communicator.

"Dr. McCoy, there is something wrong with Dr. Ray."

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><p><strong>Thanks for all your reviews and love. It means so much to me when <strong>**you review, and it takes about 2 seconds, and thanks to everyone who has added this story as a favorite/added it for alerts. I appreciate you, conscientious readers. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Leonard McCoy had never heard such alarm in the Commander's voice before. Either something was very wrong, as he had stated, or Spock was being paranoid, which was highly unlikely, to say the least. McCoy got his doctor's bag and entered the turbo lift and waited patiently as it climbed to the next deck and let him out at Dr. Ray's laboratory.

Just as Spock had said, there was indeed something wrong with Lesley, but not totally unexpected, for McCoy at least. The whole surveying crew was reporting similar symptoms.

Lesley took one look at McCoy, and her eyes softened, as if he was someone she remembered, someone she had waited to see for a long time.

"Dad?" She whispered. "You're back." Skittering over to McCoy across the floor and dragging Spock by the hand, she huddled against the doctor's leg, becoming frantic.

"We have to leave, Dad. He'll take you again!" She pointed over to the corner where the skeleton was hanging up, horrified. "We have to go!"

Dr. McCoy raised his eyebrows, scanning her with the medical scanner. _Fuck._

It was what he had expected. That goddamned planet, with the goddamned high-riding son-of-a-bitch Vulcan High Council.

"An' we can go to the beach again like we use'ta, just you an' me an' mom…" Lesley was rambling by now, thinking that the doctor was her deceased father. Spock ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing it back. To McCoy's disbelief, he made gentle shushing noises.

"What is it?" Spock asked. "It is obviously hallucinogenic in nature."

"An infection of the meninges. Was she complaining about headaches earlier?" Dr. McCoy asked through clenched teeth. He'd be on better terms with the Vulcan if Spock wasn't such an officious know-it-all. The Commander nodded, Lesley had gently remarked approximately two hours ago that her head was hurting.

"What about you? You have anything?" McCoy didn't exactly enjoy the idea of treating the Vulcan, but the Hippocratic Oath dictated that he would have to fulfill his duties. Spock repeated his gesture. _It's only a matter of time then, and we definitely don't want to deal with a hallucinating Vulcan. _Bones closed his medical kit. "Take her to sickbay."

Spock grasped Lesley's wrist, attempting to help her get up, but she carefully slipped her hand out of his grip and latched firmly onto McCoy's leg.

"No!" She yelled, beginning to thrash and cry and kick. "Stop it!" Her spastic fighting actually hurt, Spock would have bruises on his shins by morning.

"She'll have to be sedated." McCoy said, getting a hypospray ready. Ambizine. The safest way to knock her out and get her hooked to some antibiotics. He pressed the hypospray to her arm, and he watched her eyes grow wide and horrifyingly child-like.

"Dad, please no-" She started, but he depressed the trigger before she could squirm, and she fell, limp, into Spock's arms. He carried her into the turbo lift, and the atmosphere between the two males was tense, to say the least.

"Akin to meningitis, but more deadly and fast acting." McCoy spoke to fill quiet, hearing his words, talking faster and faster, but not even realizing what he was going on about. "A few others were displaying the symptoms, then it escalated to the entire Science Unit…shit." He ran his hands through his hair, and Spock merely observed McCoy's abnormal behavior. Never before had the uptight doctor come completely undone in the Commander's presence. Spock held Lesley tightly, but not so much that it would hurt her. He was not exactly certain that he liked the idea of having her life in Leonard McCoy's hands, a man who had treated him so poorly before…

"And we'd better get you on an antibiotic drip-" He was still trailing on and on, after five minutes of Spock's silence.

"I need to see how Lesley fares." The Commander interrupted, and Bones looked at him for a brief moment. Raw emotion shone in the Vulcan's eyes as he looked down at the sedated woman. _Christ._ There wasn't an easy way to do anything, now was there? As much as Leonard wanted to be a bastard toward Spock and say no, he knew that he couldn't. The careful mask that the Commander put on every day was fading as the pains in his head grew more severe and he gritted his teeth, and Leonard was the emotions course through Spock's face in a fleeting but powerful instant. Pain, sadness, worry. Each one was present, and the second Dr. McCoy detected them, he gained a sense of respect for the Commander.

"Of course." Leonard replied, and the Vulcan nodded. The males along with the unconscious form Spock carried exited the turbo lift and rushed into sickbay, where a plethora of officers were getting shot up with antibiotics. McCoy quickly pushed two gurneys closer together, let Spock deposit Lesley on one of them, and then attached an antibiotic drip, doing the same for Spock. A painkiller was administered for the skull-shattering headache.

"How long will it be until the medication that takes effect?" Spock asked, and McCoy shook his head.

"It's touch-and-go right now. For you, probably five hours or so. But Lesley? Jesus. I think you got to her just in time before her brain started shutting down. She'll need medication well into tomorrow morning." The doctor replied, then shuffled off to the other incoming patients.

Spock turned his head toward Lesley, currently asleep as a result of the sedative. A nurse walked by and put neural monitors on her neck. Her chest moved reliably up and down. _She will be fine. _He assured himself. _Doctor McCoy even said that she would fare well, although her recovery will take longer than mine. _

He closed his eyes, beginning to meditate.

"Have you had any hallucinations?" A nurse asked, and he could hear the clicking of shoes against the floor.

"No." A deep, startlingly familiar voice responded. "It is logical to administer and antibiotic, however, as I was on Theta-920 with the Vulcan High Council."

Spock opened his eyes, to view his older counterpart sitting across from him in a chair. He should have known, if the High Council was on the ship, then Spock Prime would have been there too. It never ceased to amaze him how his elder self could sneak by undetected. Another doctor hooked him to an antibiotic drip, and the Vulcan sighed. Spock looked at himself almost apprehensively, and the elder version saluted. Spock acknowledged it, still rather suspicious.

"You are worried." Spock Prime said, to which Spock nodded, averting his eyes to the floor. "She will be fine." Spock stared at his counterpart, who echoed his thoughts not even three minutes before.

"I worry that she will not be as she was." The younger Spock said, and the elder remained quiet, letting the words grow stagnant in the air.

"There is no way of knowing." Spock Prime replied, after a while, and Spock had to conceal his anger.

"It is illogical to keep these things from me." He told his older self; but Spock Prime put his hand down on the arm of the chair and softly exhaled. Spock recognized it all too perfectly as his own gesture of exasperation.

"It is logical." The older Vulcan argued. "I am not going to tell you what may or may not happen, as I am uncertain. You must not forget that we live in alternate realities."

Spock had never been so furious with himself before; sometimes it was as if Spock Prime was a completely different being from himself. He glanced over to Lesley, who remained asleep on the gurney.

"Where is she in your reality?" He questioned. If she was still alive in Spock Prime's reality, then there was a good chance that she would live through this.

"She is on a colony of Vulcan, with our child." He replied, saying nothing else, but seeming to remember them, how her hair had gone white like her mother's had, and she kept it up in some sort of up-do that he liked. Their son, who had gone the route of joining the Science Academy. What a fight Lesley had to go through to get him there; he had seen her stand before the more conservative members of the High Council and give them a fierce yet eloquent tongue-lashing, many a time did her eyes slightly narrow, that tiny, defiant gesture of hers. Looking at her vulnerable form on the gurney, a tiny panic struck him.

They remained in sickbay for an hour, without a word exchanged between them, waiting in anticipation for something to happen, but neither of them knew what exactly it was.

Her eyelids began to flutter open, and Spock leaned over anxiously. She was quietly muttering to herself, it appeared as if she was trying to recall what day it was.

"Satuhday…satuhday we ate with Sarek…" She clamped her eyelids shut again, becoming increasingly photosensitive; the sterile, white walls of sickbay were bouncing the light off of each other. "Let's see…then Sunday I moved in with him…" A small smile passed Spock's face, temporarily brightening his features. She was recounting the previous days by the matters of their relationship in slurred, slow speech.

"Lesley," He whispered, moving his chair and the intravenous antibiotic bag closer to the gurney that she was on, and placed a cool, dry hand onto her clammy forehead. Spock Prime supervised the two quietly. Perhaps his younger self had been a bit more empathetic than he remembered.

Lesley opened her eyes to see Spock, although he was blurry, but she could make out just enough of his features to allow a weak smile to paint her lips.

"…So today is Monday, and we landed on the planet. Then this. Is that right?" She asked, too weak to even keep her eyes open. This sense of absolute fatigue was deplorable. He smoothed her hair back, it was spread out on the pillow in a corona around her head, and the corners of her mouth turned subtly upward at the feeling of his cool fingers on her scalp.

"Correct," He replied, keeping his voice low. His eyes then darted to Spock Prime. As if Lesley needed to see him during her recovery. That would just cause her to become more agitated.

His hand drifted down to hers, and she loosely wrapped her fingers in with his.

"I'm going to sleep." She murmured, feebly squeezing his hand.

"That would be logical." He responded. It was fairly late, and Lesley was exhausted. Spock soon found himself drifting off as well.

Spock Prime's visage grew less hardened at the sight of the couple.

_They will be fine. _The elder told himself.

Jim had finished his treatment and was soon back up and running. Five hours doing nothing, and for the Captain, that was hell. However, Jim could not function properly without the knowledge of where his First Officer was and what he was doing.

"You are so goddamn nosy." Bones said, passing him in an aisle between rose of gurneys. They were categorized alphabetically. A half-smile had settled onto his face, and he liked hew he looked, noting it as he passed a mirror. Finally, he approached the two, they were both asleep; Spock propped up in a chair, Lesley lying on a gurney, their hands joined. _That's one for the record book. _He thought, and scurried away before Spock Prime could catch him gaping.

Lesley, drifting in and out of consciousness, was only certain of two things: that Spock was near her and that some other person was intently watching them, but not in a malevolent way. It was sort of peculiar, she felt eyes but couldn't imagine who they belonged to, hell, she could barely open her eyes to see. Phantoms of conversations drifted into earshot, mostly the sober voices of doctors and nurses, things like "Tec cc's Ambizine…yes, hypospray…" Nothing very interesting. Lesley decided to sleep.

When she opened her eyes in the morning, she still felt his hand on her own. Spock had stayed with her through the night. She went to turn her neck and deep weariness routed its way through her body, her muscles were revolting against any movement at the moment. Even with the mind-dulling tiredness, she turned to look at him.

"You're here." She said with mousy calmness. "Thank you for staying."

"It is not logical to leave you. You are my aduna." He replied, and she identified tenderness in his eyes and laughed.

_My sentimental Vulcan. _She thought, teasing, and a small smile worked its way into his face. _I wish you'd smile more. You look so pretty when you do it. _

His expression neutralized, and she could tell that he was somewhat puzzled.

_Pretty?_ He asked, raising an eyebrow. The silent conversation was going unnoticed by everyone, including Dr. McCoy. It was probably for the better anyway.

_You know. You look at ease when you smile. Handsome would be the better word I guess, if you really want to split hairs._ She was met with another vexed look. _If you want to get into specifics. _

He leaned down ad kissed her finally, after the last thought sunk in. Spock had been subconsciously been waiting for her to wake up, to show permanent signs of wellness. Footsteps sounded a small alarm in the back of his mind, but for once he ignored it; statistically, they would probably turn into the doorway right before their gurneys. Lesley was fine, as he had hoped; and that was enough to make sensibility shatter for him.

"Get a room." Bones said dryly. The couple left each other's lips quickly, wishing to avoid further embarrassment.

"I see no need to 'get a room' as you say, Dr. McCoy, as we are in a room at the moment." Spock said, and McCoy smirked and shook his head, scanning Lesley with the medical scanner, then peeled the neural monitors off of her neck. It was as if the ride in the turbo lift had somehow given the two males a greater sense of mutual respect for one another.

"You'll need another hour of medication, and then you're good to go." McCoy said to Lesley, and she nodded. "But, you'd better take it easy. And I mean it. You'll be a little loopy from the sedative, so stay in your quarters. Commander, I expect you to enforce this order."

"Of course, Doctor." Spock replied dutifully, and Lesley shot straight up into a sitting position. _Stop babying me. _She thought, directly at Spock.

"I'll be fine." Lesley whined, then put her hand to her head as the head rush started, and laid back down.

"Obviously not." McCoy said, folding his arms. "Under no circumstances will you be let out of those quarters. You can do technical work from a PADD, but you need to rest. Not like last time, running around in those halls with that boot on."

Lesley grinned, despite herself. The doctor left, and the following hour felt like an eternity. A nurse finally took the antibiotic drip out, and Lesley rose to a sitting position. She tentatively rose to her feet, her hands cautiously gripping the edge of the gurney for balance. Spock rose to support her, but she brushed him away.

_I'll be fine, _She argued, releasing her grip from the gurney little by little. As soon as her hands were a centimeter off of the padded bed, she tumbled to the tile floor. Spock caught her before contact was made with the hard, smooth tile, and slowly assisted her to her feet.

_I do not know why you constantly insist on illogically over-exerting_ _yourself. First it was wearing high-heels right after you got the brace off, and now this. Lesley, it would be logical to lock you in our quarters for the entire duration of your healing. _He thought, and she managed to give him a defiant stare.

_You wouldn't._ She challenged, and he sighed, his cool breath tickling her neck, and he pulled her a little closer as they made their way from sickbay to their quarters.

_No, because you would not let me. Nor forgive me for doing so. _He replied but she stopped for a moment and stared at him. This time there was no opposition in her stare but rather, intrigue.

_No. I'd always forgive you. _She contradicted, and they entered the room. Spock sat her down on the bed, and paced, starting to steeple his fingers, and rest them on his lips before speaking.

"It would be logical to do as you are advised, however," He began, focusing his gaze on her. "I know that you may not. Therefore, I am locking you in these quarters until I return at approximately seventeen-hundred hours. From now until then, I expect you to rest." He finished, in full starship-commander-mode, and left the room. A few beeps sounded from outside the closed doors. Lesley knew exactly what he was doing, and it infuriated her. He was changing the security code so that she couldn't get out.

In spite of that, the first thing that Lesley did was check the doors. _Damn. _Locked, and every code she tried was rejected. The doors would be too solid and sturdy to break through, in her fragile condition. She giggled at the thought of herself, barely able to stand, trying to break down the doors. _Fat friggin' chance. _

_Lesley, it is not logical to test the doors for weakness after seeing that I locked them. _Spock was tuned into her every thought, and could not help but half-smile at her antics. She was so disobedient at times. What would Sarek say if he found out? Spock shook his head, going back to his task, which was sinking into the Commander's chair.

Lesley sat on the bed and glared sullenly for a few minutes, then took out the PADD, and examined the photographs of the Thetian skeleton. Everything was as she had observed. Frustrated, Lesley threw herself onto the bed with a soft thump. Recovery had to be the most boring part of being ill.

There was absolutely nothing to do.

She grabbed a book from the shelf, blowing the dust off of it. The title was in Vulcan, but when she opened it, to her surprise, there seemed to be some sort of musical system, similar to the human treble clef. Now engrossed, she kept the place with her thumb and re-read the title, summoning up her rusty comprehension of the Vulcan language. She was able to make out the words "song" and "lyre."

A Vulcan lyre songbook. Spock hadn't informed her that he played, but it would be just like him to do something like that. By human standards, was either completely antisocial and supercilious or a gentleman in the most antiquated sense of the word. What was that quote her mother always told her?

"A gentleman is someone who plays the accordion, but doesn't." Lesley mumbled, flipping back to the page marked with her thumb. She analyzed the text, skipping over words that she couldn't figure out, but translating what she could and piecing it together from there. So far, she had a funeral dirge. She turned to the next page, an elegy.

The song book kept her entertained for hours, not for any practical purpose, mainly out of curiosity. She had become so engaged in her work that she almost did not notice Spock enter the room.

His brow furrowed slightly at her choice of reading material, moving over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"May I inquire as to what you are reading?" He asked, although he could tell from the title. A Vulcan lyre song book, one which he hadn't looked at in ears.

"A lyre music book. You never told me that you played." She said, poking his rib playfully, then raised her eyebrows in shock. "I didn't know that Vulcan love songs could get so saucy."

He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Vulcan love songs are rare, but the majority are very provocative, as most are written during the song writer's pon farr." He explained. "I did not know that you could understand Vulcan."

"I'm terrible at it." She admitted, her voice small and sheepish, and she knelt up to his level, putting her head on his shoulder. "However, I managed to get 'breasts,' 'legs,' and 'lips' from this one." The tips of his ears darkened. "Perhaps you could translate the rest for me." She joked, and he took the book out of her hands and closed it, placing it on the shelf.

"I hope this has not influenced your view of the males of the Vulcan culture in a detrimental way." He replied, and she closed her eyes and shook her head no, liking how his voice sounded in her ears. He had a deep voice, smooth like velvet, pleasing to hear, sensual. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding.

"No." She finally said, after a while of silence. "Shakespeare, a revered poet from Earth, said 'Your lips are like wine, and I want to get drunk.'" His lips left her forehead, a caring smile on his face. "So left me get pleasantly intoxicated." She finished, meeting his soft lips with hers.

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><p><strong>Yay! Finally, chapter 9 is up! Thanks for the support everyone. <strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 is here! Hooray! Hope you like it. **

* * *

><p>Morning routine became so lovely since moving in with him. He claimed that he did not need an alarm clock, he could wake up whenever he felt the need.<p>

"I don't know about you." Lesley said to Spock, setting the alarm on her nightstand. Instead of the hurt look that she'd expected, he simply smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Some days he would wake early, before that infernal alarm clock would screech in the morning, and meditate, or lie in bed beside her and do his ritual meditation there. Lesley was secretly fascinated by it, how even his breathing would become, how his heartbeat slowed. She didn't dare to interrupt him and ask about it, so used the time to collect her own thoughts.

This was one of those mornings.

Although she enjoyed living with him, it was difficult to get a moment to herself. Lesley could rarely catch a shower alone, not that she minded all that much. For being of supposedly emotionless race, he was very affectionate with her behind closed doors.

And still, it seemed, there were people who couldn't get over it.

Lesley groaned as she pulled on her boots and started toward the door.

Two weeks had passed since what she referred to as her "episode," and everything seemed to be going well. She was healthy again, Theta-920 was quarantined, and another planet was found as a prospect. Traveling at warp toward it made her feel rather queasy, rather "off," as her mother would say.

Her mother.

_Crap._ Lesley thought, putting a hand to her head. She hadn't video-called her mother in weeks. Anna would be furious with her. It wasn't that Lesley didn't want to talk to her mother, it was just that she didn't quite know how to explain everything to her mother. And she wouldn't leave Spock to do it. That would be horribly unfair. Once Anna found out that Lesley was married within two weeks of meeting Spock, there would be a conniption fit and a demand for a human wedding ceremony.

_What is on your mind? _Spock asked, walking out of the water closet. He knew her so well. She remained silent for a moment.

_My mother will have my head. _Lesley told him at last, and both of his eyebrows raised in sympathy. _If she finds out that we're technically married, she'll start this big thing and ask why she wasn't invited-_

_It would be highly illogical for her to be invited. Bonding is not something others would usually watch. _He interjected, and Lesley flushed pink.

"My mother isn't a voyeur," She muttered, almost indignantly, and swore that a smirk was forming on his face. "And she would think of the human ceremony. Anyway, it will be a very long day."

"We will be working in close proximity to one another. It is not logical for you to have such unfounded feelings of dread." Spock replied curtly.

He was correct, which caused Lesley's mouth to fall into an unsure frown. All the specialists would be in the control room today, and Lesley gathered her briefcase, complete with PADD, steno pad, and pen. More than just a probable intense conversation with her mother was weighing heavily on her mind. Lesley and Spock would be working in close proximity, which meant that Jim and Spock would be working in close proximity as well. Jim was a bit overly-friendly, which annoyed Spock at times, to say the least.

She'd also be working with Sulu, Chekov, and…Nyota.

Lesley hung her head involuntarily, leaving their quarters, Spock at her side. She'd gotten a vague sense of distrust from the bossy xenolinguist upon arrival, and ever since she and Spock were a bit more public about their relationship, the feeling had escalated into something like resentment. Not that it wasn't mutual; Lesley resented Nyota for hurting Spock, Nyota resented Lesley for being able to capture him.

_Jesus Christ on a motorcycle. High school attitudes are perpetual. _She thought to herself, but Spock had keenly picked up on it.

_What is still bothering you? _He asked, expectant. Lesley didn't know how to word it, how to exactly say that she and his ex had a mutual abhorrence for each other. The doors to the officer's mess opened then closed as they passed through. The quiet between them was pregnant with possibilities.

_ Nyota and I do not get along. _ She stated, trying to sound as diplomatic and as downright Vulcan about it as she could. She could feel Spock's disbelief permeate into her mind, and her cheeks were noticeably shaded.

_Lesley, you are being highly illogical. As far as I know, you have not spoken a word to her. _He replied, and she shot him a look. He was expressionless, as always when they were in public, but there was general inquisitiveness in his mind as to why there was animosity between the two women.

"No, you're being illogical." She argued aloud, her voice mercifully a whisper. He would have laughed if they were alone and he didn't know any better. Still, there was wonder in his brain.

_Spock. _She communicated. _I love you, but you can be so __**dense**__. How do you think Nyota will react to me? You and I work together well, and she's my exact opposite. Pushy, stressed…you know better than I do. You dated her. _

Spock perceived some bitterness in her thoughts.

_Perhaps you are envious of her too. _He thought, and received another fierce stare as they walked to the replicator. They both replicated rice, and moved to an empty table. Lesley picked at her rice, then glanced up at him.

_ I don't_ _think it's fair. She used you for what she wanted, then left when you needed someone the most. _ Lesley simply thought, forking rice into her mouth.

"How did you obtain that information?" Spock asked. He hadn't given her the details of the break-up between him and Nyota.

"I asked Jim." She responded. "Everything is everyone's business with him, you know. Speak of the devil." Jim Kirk pranced into the officer's mess, and passed their table.

"Morning, love birds!" He called. He was so damn loud, Lesley noticed, as a few cadet's faces turned toward them. "Wanted a more romantic setting than sitting with Bones and I, I guess."

Lesley growled, more than a little irritated with the Captain, ate another forkful of rice, and rested her chin in a cupped hand.

"So it will not be a very pleasant day for me." she concluded, finishing her rice.

"Do not be illogical." He told her. "Your thoughts are bordering on the absurd." Spock looked at her through his eyelashes. Deep down, he could see that it would be very uncomfortable, for everyone involved.

As soon as Jim entered the control room, he knew that something was up. The air didn't feel right; it buzzed with anger. Spock was neutral, as always, and there were no strange vibes coming off of him. Nyota however, was fluttered, snatching at papers, snarling at cadets, Something was definitely up. Jim, mustering all of his signature Kirk-flirtatiousness, took her aside.

"Nyota, what's the matter?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. His eyes looked worried, Nyota saw, but they probably had for every other girl too.

"Nothing's the matter, Captain." She snapped, shrugging off his touch, and leaving the small, unnoticed corner. Jim walked over to his chair, and sat down.

"Warp ahead." He commanded, eyes flitting to Spock, who nodded. The Commander sat in that omnipresent Commander's chair, flanked by two others: one for the xenolinguist, and another for the xenoanthropologist. The two women assumed their seats; the air was suddenly high-tension wire.

Jim finally put two and two together.

The two women were pissed at each other, it was so obvious now. Yet Spock seemed oblivious. Or chose to remain professional. Clever Vulcan. It wouldn't be wise to get in the midst of a woman's altercation by showing even the slightest bit of affection. Nyota, ever-aggressive, was jabbing at the PADD with her fingertips, but Lesley had taken the opposite, passive-aggressive approach, staying cool and reserved, but in that venomous way that meant all hell could break loose at any moment. And apparently, Lesley was doing a good job of it, Nyota was getting aggravated by her opponent's calmness. Lesley flipped through her archaic little steno pad, looking at the passing stars.

The new planet, Lambda, actually seemed like a good candidate. Soil was fertile, there was a population of humanoids, and it was very warm, as Vulcan was, however, humid and covered in forests.

"Get out of warp." Jim said, putting his hand to his chin in consideration. The green planet was within view.

"Beautiful," He heard Lesley murmur, and the faint, alien sound of a pen scribbling on paper. A probe was received by the Enterprise, it contained a video of the populace. Jim synced it with the main screen, and hesitantly pushed the play button.

A thin, white creature with doe-like eyes came into view. It tapped the screen with a childlike interest, and then spoke in a flowing high-pitched language, beckoning to others. A swarm surrounded the camera, and began carrying it.

After the headache inducing, ever-changing camera angles on the screen, the device was sat down.

The view was now the chamber of a dimly lit cave. A horde of the indigenous species was there, and small fires gave the grey walls an orange glow. At the center of the chamber, a large throne surrounded by plants. A thin, white humanoid with doe-ish eyes sat upon it, wearing an intricate headdress of roots and vines. He held a large scepter made of an ivory-like material, banged it twice on the ground, and gave a quick, sharp command in the flute sounding language.

Another was brought forth in shackles, composed of a similar material to the scepter.

There was silence, and a tall one came out with a sharp, metallic spear. The shackled one was impaled, and fell to the floor, screaming at a decibel level that nearly ruptured the crew's eardrums. Blue blood gushed out of the wound; the dead prisoner was turned over and the warrior, with the other end of the spear, a wide blade, made an incision on the chest and began hacking away, stabbing and jerking the blade upward. The delicate breastbone cracked sickeningly, revealing a myriad of organs. A cheer was heard from the warrior, the king, and the group as the sacrifice let out a last, dying wail.

The crowd was now buzzing around the corpse, and began ripping at organs. The warrior brutishly pushed them away, then cut off the head, and kneeling at the base of the throne, presented it to the king. The big brown eyes had begun to glaze over, and blood still spurted from the neck. The king took the head, cried out in his musical voice, and gouged out an eye.

The king looked as if he considered it momentarily, then popped it into his mouth, like a human with a grape. A juicy, bursting noise was heard.

The warrior cried out this time, and the group resumed ripping at the organs. A Lambdan approached the camera, and smiled with fangs exposed, a bit of purple intestine hanging from its mouth. It murmured something at the camera, its mouth rimmed in blue gore, then scampered away.

The screen went black.

"Abort mission." Jim said quietly. Not a sound was made in the control room during the viewing of the video, and the refrain from speech extended into the aftershock.

"…Captain, are you-" Sulu began, but Jim got up and started to pace.

"Listen to me. I am the Captain. Abort mission." He said, and Chekov raised his eyebrows above his brown eyes, doe eyes, Jim noticed, starting to feel his stomach churn.

"Captain-" Pavel tried to reason with the now discombobulated leader.

"Just do as I say and ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION." Jim roared. "Warp away. As far away from this demented motherfucker as we can get."

Lesley felt the ship go into warp, the distant feeling of all her molecules being spread out, and combined with the graphic images, she found that she couldn't hold in the nausea.

She grabbed the nearest garbage can and vomited into it, in an almost casual manner, making sure that her hair was out of her face. White chunks of half-digested rice fell into the can, smelling sour. Lesley returned to her original position, feeling Nyota's disgusted stare pierce the side of her head. Her color drained as Jim turned to the xenolinguist.

"What were they saying?" He asked, and Nyota shook her head.

"I can't tell yet. By comparison though, it seems to be some high-pitched dialect related to Klingon." She reported. Jim nodded slowly, the harsh lights of the control room capturing the nervous sweat on his face. A member of the maintenance crew snuck in and removed the offensive rubbish bin, almost unnoticed.

"And their culture, Dr. Ray?" Jim asked, sitting back down, willing his heart rate to decrease. He couldn't blame her for vomiting. His mind had entertained the thought of doing the same.

Lesley flipped through her steno pad, some color returning to her face.

"They appear to be a settled society, with the technology to forge weapons. The shade of the planet most likely has a role in keeping them so pale. As for the ritual we witnessed…"

She paused for a moment and gulped, then veins in her neck becoming more and more prominent.

"It looks religious, to appease the ruler, the one who wore the headdress. This suggests that the government is purely theocratic and they worship a god-king. Their ritualistic sacrifices should give them an advanced knowledge of anatomy. As we've seen, the warrior opened the sacrifice with something similar to the primitive Y-incision of the 20th and 21st century Earth mortician. The ingesting of the eye and the few words uttered after could be evidence of divining. If so, then their religion would be similar to that of the ancient Celtic Druids of Earth, divining by sacrifice." She finished and Jim put a hand to his head.

"Oh Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph." The sweat had dried, leaving stickiness on his face.

"Excuse me, but you are drawing a conclusion based completely upon comparison, Dr. Ray." Nyota interrupted. Lesley balled her fists and pushed down her anger.

_I have never known Nyota to be so officious. _Spock informed Lesley, who was at her breaking point at the moment.

"As are you," Lesley retorted, and the xenolinguist was taken aback.

"I would not make such generalizations, is all I'm saying, especially if I had not attended the Academy." Nyota shot back, and the insult was received with the intended sting. Tears pricked Lesley's eyes; her education was something she prided herself on, it always had been, and the attack would be countered. Lesley pushed down the apple-sized lump in her throat.

"Perhaps you forger that Starfleet sought me out to work on this mission. You are the best in your field, and respectively, I have been called the best in mine. Don't pick fights." Lesley advised, flaring her nostrils daintily and narrowing her eyes. Her small fighting stance. Spock knew that mannerism well, and it did not mean anything good would come out of this encounter.

"Cat fight," Jim muttered, starting to regain his personality. Nothing soothed the mind and revitalized the senses like a nice and vicious verbal joust between women.

"Mhm, I bet. Remember who you're talking to." Uhura said, expecting it to be finished. The ferocious look on the pale, blond woman's face said otherwise.

"Yes, the woman who cannot translate a few words based on comparison and then criticizes me when I tell of a culture based on comparison. I shall make it a note to remember." _God. _Lesley thought. She was starting to sound like Spock even when arguing.

"You're the one becoming hostile." Nyota objected, and Lesley turned to her, sitting on her hands so that she would not reach out and slap the xenolinguist. Spock remained stony-faced, sitting between the two women arguing across him.

"Would you just stop it?" Lesley exploded. "You fucking started this! Acting like some seventeen-year-old pre-menstrual bitch because you're jealous of my husband and I-"

The xenoanthropologist closed her mouth into a tight, grave line. Spock turned to look at her. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. Right now, it felt as if every fucking living thing in the universe was turning to stare. She'd said too much, at the worst time possible. _Goddammit Lesley, you stupid, stupid idiot. _

"If anyone needs me," She said, getting up and walking to the door. "I'll be in the lavatory.


	11. Chapter 11

A long time had elapsed from when the doors slid closed behind Lesley to when the crew began speaking again.

"Well, congratulations." Jim said, running an unsure hand through his hair. The Vulcan remained stern, and set his jaw before responding.

"Thank you, Captain. I am sorry for the illogical way my wife has been behaving. As you have noted, she has not been feeling to her optimum. If it will not disturb the state of the mission, I will go tend to her." Spock said, and Jim nodded, seemingly assured, springing up from the Captain's chair.

"You know what? Excellent idea. All dismissed." He ordered, and the room seemed to sigh collectively in relief. The Commander was the first who left the room, trailed by Nyota.

_God, will you ever leave him alone?_ Jim silently pleaded.

"So I guess there's no chance of us ever being together again, huh?" Nyota said in the tranquil hallway, leaning back against a wall.

Spock stopped dead in his tracks, clenching his teeth. Nyota had followed him out of the room. He wasn't sure what upset him more, that she had done that or that he should have known she would do that. It was the typical Nyota Uhura rashness, the thing that he had initially fallen in love with her for, and consequently, the thing that he had fallen out of love with her for. Anger pulsed in his brain, but her concealed it with practiced self-control. The only feelings from Lesley right now were shame and sorrow. In hindsight, he wondered how he ever could have loved this poisonous woman, who had verbally attacked his T'hy'la moments before. And what gave her the audacity to illogically ask for his love again?

"No, Nyota." He said testily. "There is never a chance."

Spock walked off in his usual intimidating and cold demeanor, one which Nyota felt that she'd seen through so easily at one point, but was now as solid and unrelenting as a brick wall.

Spock glared at the empty space as he approached the lavatory. Could he have really been as "dense," as Lesley put it, not to see through the beautiful, polished exterior? _It is illogical to think in terms of the past._ He told himself, but didn't believe it.

Nyota smashed her fist into the wall as he left her.

Life always had to be so goddamn unfair. She wanted to get back together, and he left her high and dry. Nyota regretted everything that she had ever done to hurt him. And the list went on and on.

She thought him sexy upon meeting him, and once they were together, her desires had been fulfilled many times. But then she had to ruin it for the both of them, and break up-on the first anniversary of the Nero incident, too. And now, to add insult to injury, she had just insulted his wife to the point where she was probably having a breakdown in the powder room.

Whether it was her or Spock, life was a cruel matron, always taking, never giving.

The sounds of muffled sobbing echoed in the water closet when Spock entered. A uniform row of stalls appeared to be the source. One by one he gently tapped on the doors; they swung open in an equally gentle manner. The noise was getting louder as he neared the last one in the row. He pushed the door open and poked his head in to see Lesley, with her head in her forearms, her entire body moving in the detestable rhythm of weeping.

Lesley hadn't felt like this since the spaghetti incident in fourth grade: completely worthless, dead inside. Upon coming to the bathroom, she had tried looking in the mirror and laughing. She hated crying; it was a sign of fragility and weakness. Yet here she was, crying like a schoolgirl on the toilet. At least she didn't cry in front of Uhura. No, Nyota didn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Lesley felt two arms wrap around her and warm breath at the nape of her neck.

The sobs became less frequent; there was the reassurance that he still loved her, after she divulged their supposed "secret."

"My ashaya. It would have been logical for me to reprimand Lieutenant Uhura before things got out of control." He whispered, feeling her erratic breathing become staid. Spock ran his fingers through her hair, that private ritual they shared; it was how he soothed her.

"It was my fault anyway." Lesley sniffled. "Opening my mouth and then blowing things out of proportion. Silly girl." Spock kissed her temple in response.

"I feel that with Captain Kirk, being the illogical way he is, everyone would have found out about it eventually." Spock said finally, and she nodded slowly. It was true, Jim knew everything about everyone.

"No." She said flatly. "It was private, something between us. We never discussed telling anyone else, and then I did-and at the worst moment possible, too."

"When will you stop with your self-criticism?" Spock asked, actually curious. Rhetorical questions had always seemed especially illogical to him. His eyes held an inquisitive light. She slumped back into the tiled wall and shrugged.

"We have been dismissed." He continued, getting up and taking her hand, pulling her close, and touching her fingertips to his in a Vulcan kiss. Lesley took a sharp, staggered inhale, and Spock smiled, pressing his mouth to her cheek.

"I needed that. Thank you." She replied faintly, before going to a sink and splashing water onto her face. Looking behind herself in the mirror, she returned a "come-hither" smile. Turning to the towel replicator, a big sign was posted onto it. Out of order. Damn it.

"So, what's on the agenda for the rest of the say?" She asked, fanning her face the rest of the way dry.

"The plan is to go about our duties as usual, then retire for the remainder of the evening." He responding, back to the formal, Commander exterior with the bat of an eyelash. She noted the change in demeanor with mild humor.

"Well, I guess I'll go back to the laboratory to further analyze the lovely display we witnessed." She said, starting for the door, hearing his footsteps behind her. They left the women's bathroom together, Lesley praying that no cadets would be hanging around outside, and walked down the hallway to the turbo lift.

Watching the obscene ritual over and over had desensitized Lesley somewhat, and she was able to get a good sense of the religious implications. Very much like the Druids, the Lambdans used sacrifice as a means of divination. Nyota had begrudgingly sent small snippets of translation over the PADD, the most bone-chilling of which was the one-word sentence that the Lambdan had growled before the video had ceased to record.

"Welcome."

The Lambdans had known of their intent. Had a colonization effort ever happened before to them, but perhaps another species?

Lesley sat at her desk, feeling a migraine form at the base of her cranium, small furrows of concentration etching her brow. Her fingers drummed involuntarily on the tabletop as she stared at the computer screen. The scene was stopped on a complete view of the cave, right before the gathering turned to chaos. Her eyes wandered over it again. Something had to be amiss, a piece of an ever-expanding puzzle that was still missing. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a small unconformity in the shading of the cave wall.

"Computer, enlarge image." She demanded. The device did as bade. The was a strange form of writing on the wall of the cave. Definitely something worth investigating. It looked so…familiar, though…

Romulan writing? Her heart began to palpate in her chest. This could be big.

"Lieutenant Uhura, I am sending over a picture of what appears to be a Romulan glyph. Please translate it as soon as possible." She said into her communicator.

"Are you sure?" The xenolinguist asked. Her unctuous tone communicated ever so clearly that she did not think much of it and barely gave a damn. Lesley winced, already wishing that she had just gone directly to Jim with it._ Well, she already despises you, nothing to lose at all. _Lesley assured herself.

"Positive." Lesley responded, sending the still to Nyota. There was a long period of absolute stillness before her communicator chirped again.

"Dr. Ray, you were correct." Uhura acknowledged, as if it pained her to do so. "However, it translates to 'N-47, Romulan imperial mission,' if you can get anything from it."

Lesley was quiet for a while. She licked her lips, staring at the image on the screen.

"You know what this means?" Lesley asked, more to herself than anyone else.

"What?" The annoyed voice on the other end of the communicator responded, and Lesley jumped, forgetting that she'd left the line open.

"The N…maybe a minion, if he had any. Nero, I mean. The N-47 was there. It was there, and those _mother-loving bastards tried to colonize!_" She exclaimed, the word "bastards" coming out as "bastids," her voice caught in between anger and excitement. Before Nyota had the chance to tell how ridiculous she was acting, Lesley ut off the conversation, paging Captain Kirk.

"What is it?" Kirk stepped into the lab warily. Lesley was fitfully moving between the PADD and the steno pad, typing and writing on tangents. She swiveled in her chair to face him, blond hair that had fallen out of its ponytail splaying out and landing on her shoulder gently as she spun. He hadn't seen her hair down like that before. _Lucky motherfucker. _Jim cursed Spock in his mind. He just wished that the two had given it time, enough time so that-

"It's about the Nero incident. Lieutenant Uhura and I have found something very…perturbing." Lesley momentarily bared her teeth at the mention of the woman's name, but the expression left as quickly as it appeared. Her serious tone shook Jim out of his mental tirade. The xenoanthropologist pulled the still of the cave up on the screen.

"Romulan writing, which the Lieutenant has translated as 'N-47, Romulan imperial mission.'" Lesley said, turning to the Captain and raising her eyebrows in expectation.

"God almighty." Jim said, appreciating the information properly. "They tried to colonize." His face blanched, and for a second Lesley was terrified. The only time she'd seen him go white was when they initially watched the ritual, however, that was terrifying for everyone. She only nodded in response.

"It was more extensive than anyone knew." She spoke softly, seriously. "See, I've taken more stills. Those skulls at the base of the throne? Romulan. And," She pulled up another of the fauna of Lambda. "The remnants of a ship." She tapped a button on the PADD, the hidden ship was outlined in red.

"Well, no wonder they didn't want any more visitors. Jesus H. Christ." Jim said, and Lesley, once again, seconded his opinion by nodding. "Well, I'll go fill out the report and send it to Pike. Send your paperwork to me."

"Yes sir." Lesley replied, still and somber. Jim swore that Spock was starting to rub off on her.

Spock stepped into his quarters. Lesley had been right, it was a long day. His shift was over, and she'd be due back any minute now.

Her emotional ups and downs were hellish for the both of them. He wondered how she could even stand it, having so many distractions raging constantly in her mind all at once.

The doors swished open and Lesley walked through, taking her hair out of its re-done ponytail. Spock walked over to her before she could gather it in her hands to put it back up, and embraced her. She sighed, putting her arms around him after a second of softening into his touch.

_I don't know how on Earth you can forgive me-_ She started, but he pulled her closer, made a small shushing noise to quiet her.

_We are not on Earth, _He reminded her. _Thrap-fam'es nu fau. Forgiveness. Ashau. Love. _

Lesley managed a sad smile. She adored when he spoke Vulcan to her, and he knew it. She nuzzled into his chest, he put his chin over her head. A wild thought ripped through her mind, fast enough to be under his radar. She'd spent half of her shift looking up words in Vulcan to translate the song book. Like hell she'd ask Nyota for assistance, a chance for friendship with that woman had been crushed like an unwanted spider. She wriggled out from under his chin, pulled his head down a bit closer to hers.

"Come here, vaksurik." She said, whispering on his cheek, her lips half-on and half-off of it, just catching flesh. He kissed her, and she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

They'd both been swamped with work this week, both been physically and mentally drained, and ended up falling down on the bed, and falling asleep as soon as his back hit the mattress.

He woke up earlier than she did and simply meditated underneath her. She groaned upon waking, realizing that she was straddling him, and realizing that her hip joints were sore and locked.

"Ow." She whined, trying to move. The slightest centimeter caused a white-hot, searing pain. Spock huffed in disdain.

"Lesley, you must change your position. We are both due to arrive at our posts in exactly thirty minutes." He said, feeling her hair tickle his cheek when she squirmed to get up.

"But I can't." She muttered. He brushed her hair back with his fingers, then moved to massage her hips.

"This should aid in relaxing the muscles." He told her. The soft caress of Lesley's breath on his neck caused a slight shudder to roll through his body. She pressed her lips carefully to his Adam's apple, and let them rest there for only a moment. The formidable, strong hands made larger circular motions on her hips. She glanced at the clock. _Damn. _Sighing, she rose up gingerly to a kneeling position and put one foot on the ground, then the other one.

She looked at the clock again.

"Shit." She grumbled, unbuttoning her pants and taking off her shirt. Spock watched intently. Watching her dress and undress was little more than a mere lesson in the garments of human women, but it was fascinating, especially the variety of undergarments: plain, frilly, things that had lace edges, others that seemed too small to even cover her adequately.

Lesley flung her clothing into the hamper and went into the bathroom.

She returned 7.39 minutes later, with a towel wrapped around her body. It dropped to the floor around her ankles.

Spock moved over to her before she could get fresh clothing. Lesley closed her eyes as his arms made contact with her still-dewy body.

"Lesley," He said aloud, and a profound sense of foreboding was shot into her veins like a hypoderm. This was not the appropriate time for speaking aloud. What the hell was going on?

"What?" She asked, putting her hand on his cheekbone, turning her head so that his lips grazed her forehead as he spoke.

"Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Sulu, and I are landing on Lambda tomorrow." He finally gravely stated. Her eyes grew in disbelief.

"And why was I, as a leading anthropologist, not included on this mission?" She demanded, taking her hand off of his cheek and placing it defiantly on her bare hip. She managed to wriggle out of his grasp and faced him, feeling an underlying self-consciousness about confronting him while she was stark naked. Lesley fiercely dared the blush to present itself on her face, and to her advantage, it cowered in fear and did not color her cheeks.

"Admiral Pike does not think it best to bring either you or Nyota along, as there shall be no rivalry or feelings of emotional attachment. I must concur, it is a logical choice." He responded blankly, suddenly unsure of his surroundings. Never before had a nude woman given him such a ferocious look.

"The hell you say." Lesley snarled, pulling on a pair of pants.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for putting up with the late update, and to all my subscribers, reviewers, and people who have put this story on their favorites list. <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

"You and your fucking logic." The transmission rang through clear on Spock's communicator, loud enough for the other two men in the capsule to hear. Him burst out laughing and Sulu glowered at the small computerized device. The Maine was coming out strong in Lesley's voice today. Spock had locked her in her laboratory this time; the lock was to be released when he returned in a few hours. And there was a large chance of returning, he'd calculated a 95.8723% chance of survival.

"That is no way to address your Commander, Lieutenant." Came his dry, disapproving reply. He heard her short, cynical breath on the device.

"Fuck you, Commander. Lieutenant Ray, out."

Jim was barely breathing as the small capsule entered Lambda's atmosphere.

"Well then, Spock, there's always that empty room that you could use." The Captain said, elbowing the Commander good naturedly.

Lesley hadn't had a good day at all. She had dreamt of home the night before, and now everything, the books, her clothes, even simple piece of furniture, nearly drove her to tears. She missed Maine so much; she missed the sun on her face and the wind that combed her hair; the diverse textures of sand and grass on her feet; the reliable slosh of the tides on the beach. Even the home where she grew up, her attic bedroom, sweltering in the summer and freezing in the winter.

Spock had taken her to the holodeck the day before he was scheduled to leave, and they spent time on a simulated beach. Everything _looked _the same, the sunlight made her hair glint, the wind brushed her face, but it didn't _feel _the same. Lesley smiled anyway, even though Spock could tell it was pasted on her face. Therefore, her colorful farewell wasn't that much of a surprise.

He had learned so much about her.

Her name was all over the database, she appeared in a few documentaries when she was younger, most notably one touching upon Scandinavian influence on pre-European America. He watched a video clip, her face was young and a tad more round, she wore thick glasses that complemented her face. The characteristic excitement when she spoke of the findings was there though, which he supposed was why he was so fond of her. She'd always been eager to share her knowledge, if a little officious at times. Another interesting piece was her resume upon entering Starfleet as a non-Academy trained specialist: she'd worked privately for museums and collectors, minored in archaeology, thus giving her the skills need to classify and obtain artifacts. Also listed was her address. It appeared that she had purchased a large house in Washington County, Maine, in her hometown, perhaps as compensation for living in a small house during her childhood. It would be logical to ask her of these things later on, after he returned, when her anger quelled.

The ship touched down on the planet and the men hesitantly left the capsule, their feet sinking into the swampy muck that made up Lambda's ground. Humidity caused Jim's collar to become dark and damp with sweat. The local fauna seemed to be prominent and was an eye-numbing ultra-green; Sulu took specimen samples of the plants he encountered. Rustling in the trees caused ears to prickle, snatches of pallid skin danced in and out of their peripheral vision. A cautious, fat native wearing the familiar headdress approached them, speaking in that high, lyrical language. Jim did his best to keep an open, peaceful expression despite wanting to vomit, wanting to punch that little fucker in the head repeatedly, wanting to know if it knew the moral implications of what it had done, and switched on the universal translator.

"…I thought we had finished you." The thin, reedy voice concluded, and the Lambdan crossed its arms over it's bloated, pale stomach.

"We are not the men you encountered before." Jim explained quietly. The tiny white creature peered up with skepticism as a few children approached, carefully touching Spock's pant legs. The Vulcan remained austere. "We are only seeking information on them."

"So you are," The fat little thing said, in a manner that could only be described as contemptuous. Some adult Lambdans had crawled out of hiding to watch the scene. "The others, they burnt our forests and killed our children. We did not sacrifice them; they were unfit, unclean. We fed them to the ground and harvest from their suffering, and their bones kiss my feet." Two doe eyes poked warily out from under the mass of roots; a narrow, if somewhat spiteful smile touched the creature's face. "I hope you are not seeking firewood."

Jim's charisma faded a bit, returned with full force once the Lambdan laughed to indicate a light, morbid jest. A Lambdan child peered up at him with tragically adorable eyes and touched his boot lightly, then ran away to his friends.

"No, no. We're diplomats from Starfleet, an organization seeking to serve and protect people of all cultures and planets, wishing you well and wanting to learn your culture. Our anthropologist has taken a great interest in your ritual. All we need is your permission to examine artifacts, after which, they will be promptly returned to you." Jim ventured, noting his First Officer's choice of body language: stiff and still, as children came up and poked him then ran away.

"He's a statue!" One of them yelled once they were safely back in a thicket. Both Jim and Sulu smirked as the Vulcan shifted his weight, and there was an "Ohhh!" of surprise. The leader nodded its consent, and motioned for the men to follow him.

* * *

><p>Lesley stomped her foot in frustration. Their capsule was due to be back now, why the hell did it feel like it was taking so long to get here? She collapsed into a chair, and as her body made contact, the men were beamed back into the room, with containers of artifacts in tow. She sprang from her seat, wanting to tackle her husband, but restraining herself.<p>

"Lemme see!" Her exam gloves snapped crisply onto her hands. The texts, jewelry, and pottery fragments were transferred into the doctor's capable hands without hesitation; Spock was again taken with how engulfed she was in her work. Lesley ran her hand over a stretched-skin page.

"Like a kid in a candy store." Jim mused, going back to his seat in the central part of the control room.

"Fascinating." The word popped involuntarily out of her mouth; Jim snickered and she gave him a sideward glance of annoyance, then went back to looking at the page. "Cadet Garcia, please _carefully_ transport these artifacts to my laboratory." She said into her communicator, then chewed at her cheek. "Damn. I almost don't want to let them go." The cadet nearly pried them out of Lesley's unyielding hands and marched them to the laboratory. A dull, grinding exhaustion began to settle in, and it took her a moment to realize that it was coming over from Spock.

He'd been meditating a lot lately. It concerned her, but she kept quiet. It'd be for the best if she didn't pry. Funny, how there was still a certain amount of privacy that remained, even when they shared thoughts and feelings.

Everyone in the room trudged to their quarters, all tired, either from being physically present on Lambda or getting strung out from the anticipation of what could happen.

Lesley fell onto the bed once she got into their quarters, but Spock merely sat in the chair and clicked around on the PADD.

"What're you doing, darling?" She asked, looking up at him, interrupting his task. He focused on her, his face contorted in the Vulcan version of surprise: the ever-expressive eyebrow was raised, one corner of his mouth was pulled up into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Finalizing finds for our meeting in two days." He responded, clicking around on the PADD more. She looked at him, putting a hand on her hip.

"No one told me about it." She sniffed, insulted. It was true, he had neglected to tell her. Lesley wasn't entirely sure if he forgot to tell her these things or just because he simply did not deem them important.

"I believed that you were briefed on it. Admiral Pike will be here tomorrow to go over the findings. And please, remember to act logically." He said, watching her fold her arms.

"Well _obviously_. You and I both know how he feels about relationships within Starfleet, especially between an inferior and her superior in the same sector." Lesley responded. Hell, Lesley didn't even know if she approved of it from a professional standpoint; it did appear to be very intimate and inappropriate at times. But, in the long run, it was probably alright, Pike let Jim Kirk himself run willy-nilly with his relationships, if one could even call them that. However, Lesley didn't save the Earth…but Spock was in good standing with Pike so it would probably end up well…

Spock put the PADD down on the table and the small, muffled thump drew Lesley's attention to him.

"My ashaya, you are letting your mind go on and on. It would be logical for you to start meditating." He said, in what she identified as almost a melancholy, disapproving tone. "But, you might now want to make use of my 'fucking logic,' as you say."

Lesley went agape in awe for a moment. She'd never heard him use profanity before, and consequently, burst out laughing. Clutching the blankets, Lesley forced herself to calm down, but once she saw him, she couldn't help but giggle.

"I do not see the humor in this." He stated, watching her laugh. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"You…just…said…fuck!" She exclaimed in between gales of laughter. Time to relax, she decided, now wouldn't be a good time to get him angry. "I'm sorry, I just-" She took a gulp of air, at a loss for words. "I've never heard you swear before." She justified. His expression was the same, neutral as always.

"I do not think it logical to use expletives." He replied. She simply smiled, knowing that she'd caught him. Lesley could and would swear like a sailor, given the opportunity.

"Finished your report?" She asked, then without giving adequate time for a response: "Good. Let's go to bed." Lesley threw off her clothes and got under the blankets.

* * *

><p>"Lesley," Spock gently nudged his wife. "Aduna," He shook her a bit more. "Lesley, please wake." He requested loudly. She opened her eyes, took in the light, and they retreated into blue lines.<p>

"Jesus, Spock. It's not even time to get up yet." She protested groggily, then blinked twice and sat up, the sheets crumpling around her nude body.

"It would please me if you attempted meditation this morning." He told her, and she dropped her chin, giving him a cynical stare. "It improves the function of the mind, and therefore is logical." He expounded, subconsciously trying to wear her down.

"Fine." She relented, walking over to the closet, finding pyjama pants, taking out his Academy sweater and slipping it over his head, giving him a nice view of her bare breasts as she did so. Her legs folded into a pretzel-style seat beside him, and she closed her eyes. "Next you're going to tell me to clear my mind and all that happy horseshit, huh?" She asked, eyes still closed serenely, yawning.

"Yes. That is what is necessary, preferably without the aid of euphoric equine feces." He replied, almost haughty about catching her sarcasm and throwing it back at her. One of her eyes opened and mock-glared at him.

"It's a figure of speech." Her voice had taken on that half-exasperated lilt he often heard when he did things of that nature. The thought of kissing her entertained his thoughts for a moments, but he pushed it away, it was time for pure meditation. The silence was blissful, their breathing became synchronized, and there was the feeling of emptying all the baggage from the previous day, the sweeping out of cluttered thoughts. It was quite pleasant to clear away the worries, Lesley wouldn't lie. The blankness remained for a while, until she felt his warm hand on hers, fingertips touching in a Vulcan kiss, and gradually she gained her mind again, only this time it was organized neatly; she almost envisioned each little thought and notion going into a filing cabinet.

She opened her eyes, he was already staring into hers. A timid silence had overtaken the bedroom. Lesley took to clothes off, hung them back up, and headed toward the bathroom.

"Well, that was refreshing." She said, calling out of the closet-sized lavatory, turning on the shower. He allowed a slow smile to spread on his face and followed her into the bathroom.

* * *

><p>"We'll have to address my mother about this sometime or another." Lesley argued. Something had put her in a bad mood over the course of the day, Spock judged, Her footsteps were sharp little shots on the floor as they walked to dinner. "And I swear to God, if I have to work with Nyota one more time-"<p>

"Lesley, please come to your senses. Nyota is simply envious of you, which is logical." He responded, internally regretting what he'd said once a sarcastic, mischievous smile replaced her scowl.

"Oh yes," She mocked. "So jealous. After all, who doesn't want to be wed to and bedding you, the Vulcan demigod that you are." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, the issue, please. I'd like to video call my mother, preferably tomorrow, or at least sometime within the week, and let her know that we're married. Because it's extremely unfair that an entire starship filled with people I barely know knows about it, but my own mother doesn't. And of course, she'll demand to meet your father…"

Lesley was cut short as she crashed into another solid person walking down the corridor. She looked up to see a Vulcan, his hair graying, face etched with lines of age. There was such a familiar quality about him. Lesley looked to her husband as if to ask: _I know I've met him, but where?_ and Spock seemed quietly enraged. Unsure, Lesley saluted the man.

"I'm sorry. Dr. Ray, head of xenoanthropology. Have we met?" She asked, turning her head in that subtle way that meant she was bewildered.

Spock Prime pushed a smile away. All her mannerisms were the same, the head tilt, the mussed hair that wrapped up around a pencil and put up, blue eyes that twinkled with a certain hidden sarcasm.

"Yes, we have." Spock Prime replied, standing next to his younger self. "I am the older version of your husband from an alternate timeline."

Upon looking at them, the two were undeniably similar, excepting the serene look of the elder and the hidden fury on her husband's face. It gave her an eerie feeling, reminding her of when she was younger, when she'd watched an old film called _The Shining_, and there were two twins in a hallway, one smiling, and one frowning. Something close to nausea set up shop in her stomach.

Lesley started laughing, despite the half-sickness. She was doubled over in a matter of moments, her stomach beginning to hurt even worse.

"Do not be illogical," They reprimanded in unison. The younger glared at Spock Prime.

"Very funny, Spock." She replied, giving the young Vulcan an affectionate touch on the shoulder. "Maybe my sense of humor's rubbed off on you. How'd you get another Vulcan to agree to pulling such an elaborate prank?"

His visage remained serious. Her laughter died down; an awkward overtone engulfed the trio. Spock set his jaw.

"Lesley, I regret to say that this is not a 'prank.' My older counterpart, Spock Prime, has just ran into you."

She stared at the two of them for a while, feeling more and more sick the longer she looked.

"What?" She asked, the jocularity completely stripped from her face.

Spock Prime began to explain the alternate timeline to her, but she just shook her head in dismissal.

"I highly doubt this. Nice try there. Come on Spock, I'm starving." She began to walk off, but her husband did not trail her. Spock Prime felt a dagger go into his stomach.

"Lesley Ray, I know that you have a small scar on your body, which you obtained from being pushed off of your bicycle at age nine."

Lesley turned around abruptly, and the two Spocks faced her. She looked fleetingly from one to the other. Damn. They definitely were the same person, right down the irises of their eyes, soulful and brown.

"Where?" She challenged, raising an eyebrow, a trick she'd learned from him.

"Right below your left buttock. You fell onto old barbed wire." He replied, matching her expression, and walking away.

Lesley looked to Spock, questioning, who grabbed her hand and walked to the Officer's Mess, visibly flustered.

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><p><strong>Yay! Now introducing: Linebreaks! c:<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

It was settled; Lesley called it "The Day of Reckoning."

They were to call her mother tonight and fill her in on everything that had happened, from their marriage up until now, and probably and introduction of Lesley's mother to Sarek would take place. It just had to be this complicated, didn't it? Lesley sighed, leaning back into the chair, waiting for his shift to be over so that they could talk.

He'd been so upset when his older self kept meddling, if that was even the term, she reflected, one side of her mouth turned upward in amusement. The meeting with Pike had been just short of disastrous. The two Spocks got into an intense argument in front of the entire Vulcan High Council, and the younger Spock had been dismissed by Sarek. An uncomfortable feeling that somehow Sarek deemed it her fault made the hairs on the back of Lesley's neck stand up. From her studies in University, she'd always thought that Vulcans were sort of like the Shaolin monks of the universe, besides the actual ones, of course: they were vegetarians, practiced non-violence, meditated, repressed emotions and desires for the greater good, fought only to defend. _Groovy, man_. She thought, a small smile perking up her lips at her mind's use of the extremely outdated saying. But now she knew better, there always seemed to be something percolating just underneath the surface, something either disturbing or sweet, depending on their attitude.

She made her way through the Lambdan Book of the Dead, highlighting and annotating on the PADD. The doors heralded an entrance.

"Finally, you're back." She said, without looking up. She stretched luxuriously out from her folded up position on the chair.

"Dr. Ray, forgive me, but I know not what you are referring to. I was never previously in your quarters." The voice was deep and familiar, yet unfamiliar.

_Of course._

It was Spock Prime, the elder version of her husband. Talking to him gave her a tumultuous deja-vu, like remembering a dream she didn't have…there was a specific term for it, wasn't there? Ah well, no time for technicality.

"Oh. I am sorry, Mr. Spock." It didn't feel right to call him Spock or Spock Prime, and she settled on something formal. She winced. The words had sounded colder than she'd intended them to. "I was expecting my husband." Well, that cleared things up. _Idiot. _She scolded herself. "Well, you know." And amused smile gave his face an odd grace that she liked and thought she remembered, but didn't.

"I understand. Commander Spock has sent me here to keep you company while he makes amends with his father and Admiral Pike." He responded. At that second she gave him a look of pure disbelief. She was exactly as he had remembered: sarcastic, yet elegant. He missed her and their son, and she was so close right now but so far away. He couldn't sneak one kiss if he wanted to, he wouldn't cause that grief for his younger self. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers ghosting over the place that he's kissed so many times.

"Really? I'm surprised he isn't dashing back here in shame after that little stunt he pulled at the meeting yesterday." She replied, in disgusted endearment.

"You are not content with his actions, I presume." He said, watching the light fall on her hair. She gave a prim yet unladylike snort and he smiled softly. Unladylike humor was her métier, besides anthropology.

"He's so…argumentative at times." She said, selecting her words carefully, as not to offend him. He laughed, and the sound emanating from his throat was the stretch of honey as it poured from a jar: sweet and golden. She remembered it but didn't; the bitter sweetness could've made her cry. Her Spock had not yet laughed like that in her presence. It was a wonderful laugh; it was infectious. She allowed herself to giggle a bit, then sighed.

"My younger self is very headstrong and unrelenting." He stopped abruptly a moment. "Dr. Ray, would it trouble you if I shared something…personal?" He asked. She turned her head in pleased surprise.

"No, not at all." She responded, putting the PADD down and getting ready to listen, placing the side of her face on the back of her hand. He seemed to pause for a moment, then folded his hands gravely.

"I am sorry if my younger counterpart is not affectionate with you. I find that it was difficult for me to accept the certain logistics of human affection."

The sentence stayed in the air for quite some time. Neither of them said a word; Spock Prime checked her face for signs of definitive emotion, but all that was there was a contemplative expression.

"How did we meet in your reality?" She asked flatly. His sternness faded, and a strange light lit his eyes from the inside.

"You were in a group on an interplanetary expedition, gathering artifacts for a private collector. Your ship was unauthorized in the database and no one present had the license or registration. Logically, you all ended up in the brig." He smiled a bit at this point, pausing. Lesley bit her lip and blushed, feeling like a schoolgirl falling for the imposing professor. In the Vulcan sense, was it even logical for her to feel this way? He was, after all, the older version of her beloved husband. His soft gestures ended there, he cleared his throat and resumed in a professional tone.

"I was very impressed by your knowledge and dedication; you stayed up for most of the night documenting finds in a worn stenographer's notebook. Therefore, I found it logical to recruit you for Starfleet. We later fraternized." He finished, placing his hands behind his back in that mind-numbingly authoritarian way.

Lesley started laughing; it started out as a small giggle, escalating to a full-on laugh, gulping for air as if she was drowning. He turned his head and watched her, falling in love with his wife a second time.

"You _would_ say it like that." She suddenly froze, rose from the chair, put her hands behind her back, and a somber expression on her face. "'We later fraternized.'" She quoted, deepening her voice. Spock Prime folded his arms, sat at the front of the bed as she fell down on the chair in hysterics, shaking his head knowingly.

"It took me the longest time to understand human humor, yet I still find it rather illogical at times." He said. Lesley managed to clam down and turned the PADD back on, tapped on it a few times. They were really past the usual "how's-the-weather?" type talk, but still unfamiliar. She exhaled slowly, cast her eyes down and splayed her fingers out on her thighs. He remembered this gesture, on of a million tiny mannerisms he could name, like the way she cooed to comfort their child when he was young, the way her eyes became tiny and defiant when she felt threatened, the way she grasped the bed sheets when he made love to her…

He tried to clear his mind. These topics wouldn't usually be so omnipresent, but hadn't seen her in over a month, and here she was again, shy and young.

"Jamais vu." She whispered to the air. The bed squeaked as he stood.

"What?" Spock Prime asked. She looked to him, their eyes locked, and again there was a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach. A chill ran down his spine. How many times had he observed her like this?

"The feeling of being unfamiliar, though the current situation has happened repeatedly. Jamais vu." She repeated, never breaking eye contact. An impulse to push her up against the wall and have her crept up on him, to feel her bare skin under his tongue, and he swatted it away. The uneasy stare ended as the doors flew open. Spock entered, Lesley dropped her eyes and got up to meet him.

"Thank you, Spock Prime." Spock said, addressing his elder. They saluted and Spock Prime walked out.

"Jamais vu," He murmured, footsteps echoing down the corridor. A few nosy cadets looked at him as he passed.

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><p><strong>Reviews, please. c: And yes, I know how pathetic I sound. <strong>


	14. Chapter 14

"Well, then," Lesley said, sitting down at the computer desk. "Where's your father?" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The time was ticking away; they were either going to do this or they weren't. Spock was pacing the room.

"I am not sure, but he stated that he would arrive in five Earth minutes and it has already been four minutes and 15.22 seconds-"

Lesley gave him such a withering look that it shut him up immediately. _And you accuse me of letting my mind go on and on. _

Sarek arrived right at the five minute mark, punctual as always, and Lesley turned on the computer.

"Sarek, I'm not sure that you and my mother will get along. She's very…blunt. And there is a good chance that she might lose her temper." She stated, avoiding eye contact and finding that the generic tabletop was better to look at. The older Vulcan stared intently at the human, unblinking. Lesley internally winced, about to burn under his gaze.

"Why would your mother become angry?" He asked, careful and inflectionless. Lesley looked at Sarek sheepishly and shrugged.

"My mother doesn't know that Spock and I are married yet, and she's bound to acting irrationally at times…" The human trailed off as her mother's image popped up on the screen. "Hi Mom." She said, grinning and waving. The two Vulcans changed expressionless glances.

"You haven't spoken to me in forever, Lesley." The older woman said, voice saturated with disapproval. Lesley averted her eyes and laughed softly, already feeling uncomfortable. Her mother looked questioningly at the two men sitting next to her. "How are things?"

"Fine. Great, actually." Lesley said, putting off everything until the last possible moment.

_It is illogical to procrastinate. _Spock noted, and at that moment he was transferred one of her thoughts, in particular, one of her getting up, slapping him across the face, and leaving.

_Stop it. I'll tell her soon._ Lesley communicated. There was a long, albeit interesting silence between mother and daughter.

"Are you faring well, Mrs. Ray?" Spock inquired to fill in the dead air. Her face lit up when she smiled approvingly, and he became calm at once.

"Very well, thank you. So polite." She mused. "And you?" Anna leaned back in her chair expectantly. Sunlight filtered in through the window behind her, made her blond-going-white hair glow.

"Well." Spock replied. Again silence. Anna cleared her throat, a garbled sound coming through the computer speakers. Lesley did the same; Spock was amazed at how similar their gestures were.

"So, Mom, Spock and I are married." The last part of the sentence came out fast and combined, the words piled together as if she'd been afraid to say them.

"What?" Anna asked, half because she was in shock about what she thought she heard and half because she couldn't make out anything her daughter had said. Lesley closed her eyes, swallowed, then opened them again.

"Spock. And. I. Are. Married." She said, enunciating each word clearly, as if she was teaching a kindergarten class. Anna's clear blue eyes widened in something like horror and shock; the hurt coming over from Spock felt like someone had just slugged her in the stomach.

"Oh…that's…" Lesley could tell that Anna didn't exactly approve, but wanted the two to be happy with each other, and have supportive in-laws, not a repetition of what happened with her and George. "…Wonderful!" Her mother exclaimed, and relief washed over the both of them. "Goodness. I have a son-in-law now. Where does the time even go?"

Sarek was still and stony behind the young not-so-newlyweds. His eyes were ever-watchful and cunningly observant. The in-law seemed affable enough, and if she did not necessarily approve, that was fine, he did not necessarily approve either. His son's wife seemed a bit prone to emotion.

"Mrs. Ray, I thought it would be logical for you to meet my father, Ambassador Sarek." Spock said finally. This was not going as planned at all. There were more uneasy ebbs and flows of quiet, the two in-laws seemed to size each other up.

"It's lovely to meet you, Ambassador." Anna said, leaning back in the oak desk chair. It creaked minutely, the sunlight made dust-motes dance in the air.

"The feeling is reciprocated, Mrs. Ray." Sarek replied coldly, even for a Vulcan, in a tone that would suggest that the feeling was not reciprocated at all. Anna threw back her head and laughed.

"Don't be too enthusiastic now, Ambassador." Anna responded once she had quelled her laughing fit.

"Sarek, I am so sorry-" Lesley began, but Anna waved a dismissive hand at her daughter.

"Call me Anna. We're related by marriage now. I must say, you've done a wonderful job with your son. So smart and respectful." She commented, and Lesley could hear her mother's unsaid addition to the sentence: _"But you, however…"_ Lesley had an aptitude for telling when her mother was hiding these things, even when no one else did. A seagull squawked in the distance. All at once, Lesley felt a pang of sadness, missing her hometown again. Spock put his hand on hers discreetly, a demure smile passed her face.

"Well, mother. I'll be talking to you soon…we're just swamped with work." Lesley justified, and Anna nodded. Ostensibly, this reason was true, however, Lesley wanted to get her mother out of the awkward meeting with Sarek. They didn't seem to care for each other.

"Congratulations you two. Once again, nice to meet you, Ambassador."

"Live long and prosper." Father and son said in unison as the image diluted to black. Sarek left the room without a word, leaving the couple to themselves. The two were disdainfully quiet, absolutely sure that their parents hated each other. Spock leaned over to her and kissed her neck gently, she turned her head and mashed her lips into his mouth.

It was a mutual decision that they would meditate, and then sleep to forget.

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><p><strong>I know, it's short. Like it? Hate it? Have something else in mind? Tell me!<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Finally, I got around to updating this. Sorry it took so long. **

* * *

><p>Spock could feel it, racing through his veins, shattering every bit of logical though he entertained.<p>

_No, no, no._

He denied that it was even happening, he tried to push it down, to meditate it away, to at least keep Lesley from knowing, this was the last thing she needed at the moment. The calendar seemed to mock him, a set of squares staring accusatorily up from the PADD's shining surface. It was going to ravage his body, whether he liked it or not. Pon farr.

Even though seemingly illogical to keep it from Lesley, at the same time, it seemed logical to hide it. She'd done research and as far as he knew, she knew about the blood fever. Every little gesture she made too, was somehow stimulating, each little tilt of her mouth, the way her lips curved and how her teeth pressed against them; when her breasts shifted beneath her uniform shirt, when she crossed her legs in her chair; her scent, which he caught as she sat beside him in the capsule. She was currently clutching the artifacts with excitement, eyes wide and blue and delectably innocent, drinking in the new planet. Today would mark the return of the sacred texts to their original owners and she was finally allowed to step foot on the planet. The excitement rolled off of her in waves; eyes alight with happiness and pure scientific curiosity, sometimes he thought she loved her work more than she loved him. Spock was conflicted, oddly aroused and concerned at the same time, the last time she'd ventured onto a new planet she'd gotten so ill...

Furtively checking for the roving eyes of Kirk or Sulu, Spock placed an inconspicuous hand on her thigh.

Lesley turned politely to the Commander, unobtrusively took his hand off her thigh and placed it primly back on his own, a prudent little "no-no" gesture, all the while smiling professionally. Professional, yet teasing.

_Business is business,_ She reminded him, hating herself for acting so cold and not knowing why she was doing so. The fact that he could die if he didn't mate scared her, but what frightened her even worse was the research she'd been doing: how some pon farrs could be violent. His self-control was slipping too, she could see it, how prone to irrationality he'd been in the past few weeks, how irritable. If she was given even a wayward glance by some unfortunate man in his presence, Spock would glare at him until they passed; he'd even do that to the women sometimes if she was complimented. Lesley felt the strong hand clutch her thigh again and she sighed, leaning back against the seat, taking a last look at the Lambdan tablet.

_Love is love._ She gulped, hesitating a moment. Everything in her told her "no," but her mind said "yes" to what she was about to do, even if it got his anger riled up. Starfleet would have a fit if he hit her, she knew that, but one hit from him was probably all it would take. This was why pon farr was scaring her so badly: it was turning him into someone completely different, some possessive asshole that she was starting to dislike.

_How can you even say that. _She seethed. _I know what you're going through, but it gives you no justification for what you're doing to me at all. I thought being in Starfleet might end the obvious gender biases on Earth, but this…this is insane. And the other women you've thought about…_Lesley trailed off, unable to think anymore, both out of embarrassment and inadequacy, she saw Jim peek at her strained, disgusted expression. Spock retracted his hand slowly, ashamed and wanting to please her, wanting to respect her, even though his body was sending him terrible messages. His thoughts had extended to other women occasionally; mostly remembrances of Nyota, but some random cadets who had dropped things on the floor, had to retrieve items from lower cabinets, and she could feel it. _You kill me when you do that. You really do. _She concluded.

The couple remained oddly quiet and distant for the remainder of the trip, until they touched down on Lambdan soil when they exited the capsule (which was rapidly becoming much too cramped for Jim's taste). The tension, the anger, the penance-it radiated from them, and the captain was actually shocked by the mood each was conveying. For once, Spock, Mr. Proficient, Mr. Know-it-all, Mr. Always-right, had let his wife down; her disappointment and anger were extreme.

The fat chief welcomed the artifacts with open arms.

"Welcome back," He said, waving at the newcomers, a little apprehensive of the new woman, but held a smile, a touch of macabre added by the fangs. At least the strain between the couple was momentarily gone; Lesley was suddenly fascinated by her new task, her eyes big and child-like and blue, greedily drinking in the new world. Again, that conflicting paternal instinct and arousal gripped Spock and ripped the ground out from under his feet. A few children ran up to her, first touching her pant legs to make sure she was real, then standing near her in clusters, like timid horses before a storm.

"This is our head of anthropology, Dr. Ray." Jim said. Lesley smiled and nodded at the portly chief.

"Chief Lilan'kwa?" She asked. "It's an honor to meet you." The chief visibly brightened and his posture corrected at once, puffing his chest out. "I find your religious rites very interesting and was wondering about opportunities for study…"

The anthropologist and Lambdan were immersed in conversation when a child came up to her and touched her hair. She was crouched close to the ground, and grinned.

"Look at you! You're so tall!" She exclaimed, and the child laughed and ran back to its playmates. Another sudden, distracting thought seized Spock: How would Lesley interact with a child of their own?

* * *

><p>The officers soon left to go to the capsule; Lesley and Spock were told to go on first, as Sulu had some vegetation samples to collect. Jim, under the guise of supervising Sulu, watched them interact from a distance after the Lambdans had retreated and they thought no one was watching. Spock came quietly up behind her and goosed her, Lesley turned around and gave him a playful swat on the shoulder then kissed him. The two boarded the capsule and looked outside, talking confidentially to each other. Jim smirked up at them, raising suggestive brows, and immediately Lesley became mortified; Jim just gave her a thumbs-up. Sulu just shook his head at their antics.<p>

"You'd think they'd save it for when they're alone." The botanist muttered, boarding the capsule. Jim snorted.

"Nah. Have I been the only one noticing how randy Spock's been getting with her lately? Poor girl wants to keep it professional-she tries to stop him." _And fails. _Jim finished in thought before entering.

* * *

><p>Upon beaming onto the Enterprise, Lesley felt the fatigue set in. Not just the usual distant-not distant feel of being transported molecule by molecule, but honest fatigue. She needed a drink, a warm shower, a good book, and a bed loaded with pillows and blankets. The stress she'd been dealing with all week finally dissipated, leaving and empty, tired shell. She looked at the clock, their shift was over. <em>Fuck. <em>Only one thing was on his mind tonight, and it didn't match up with anything on hers. Spock trailed her eagerly to their quarters, waiting for the doors to close behind them. She flopped down onto the bed like a rag doll thrown by an unhappy child. He strode over and lay next to her; she squirmed out of his reach.

"Can't you wait one day?" She asked, the life gone from her voice. "I'm mentally and physically exhausted. How enjoyable will it even be for you? Please. Just. One. Day." She reiterated, on the verge of tears. He could hear it in her voice, silently hating himself for doing this to her.

Spock rose to a sitting position on the bed and looked so infuriated for a moment that she thought he was going to slap her. Lesley winced, compressing herself into the headboard, wanting to disappear.

"_Ashaya_, I do not think you understand. I may die if we do not do this." He responded, restraining the anger that pulsed in his head, and Lesley got up abruptly, throwing her hands in the air.

"Fine!" She shot back, ripping her clothes off angrily. "You can fuck me to exhaustion then, until I'm in a coma, as long as _you're _satiated." She threw her shirt on the floor in a rage, and he sighed, putting two feet on the floor in unison.

"You are very illogical at times. What I meant to say is, let me make love to you." He rephrased, walking over to her, putting his hands on her chest and feeling her heartbeat slow down. Slipping seductively behind her, he wrapped his arms around her midsection. There was no sound, save for that of his slight tremulous breaths that dripped down the back of her neck. Lesley exhaled slowly, feeling him expertly unlatch her brassiere in a swift, practiced motion. Men-all men, even ones from other planets-were like dogs, no matter how eloquent they appeared to be. If one trained them to do something for which they got a reward, they would try to do it as much as possible. Eyes on the prize. Simple Pavlovian psychology; give them a treat at the bell and they'll come running whenever they hear it rung. Even decidedly logical men fell into this trap. Rather fascinating, really.

_T'hy'la, now is not the time to psychoanalyze. _He interrupted her thoughts. Lesley took the hint and quickly undid his belt; his pants dropped to the floor and he kicked his boots across the room.

He never did that, and observation which both excited and terrified her. Spock always lined up his boots at the side of the closet.

"And have I ever told you how appealing you are when angered? I found it quite alluring." He continued aloud, pushing her pants down from around her hips, his breath going into her ear, smirking as he made her squirm in delight and unfamiliarity with the sensation. "Now what do you want?" He whispered. She turned and looked at him in disbelief, taking in the view of him in only his shorts, and put an hand to his forehead. Burning hot. Even his face was flushed.

"Spock, you're delirious. Let's get this over with. Do what you have to." She responded, kicking herself for it. She couldn't pretend she didn't want it, because she did, but she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted.

"Lesley, please." His tone was urgent, pleading, nimble hands sliding underpants down her legs. "Tell me."

"Fine. I want a cup of coffee. I want to be on the observation deck, watching the stars go by and sipping something tall and strong. I want to go to sleep and have no dreams. I want to fall backward into a large bed full of soft pillows. I want Sarek and my mother to get along. I want to lie on the beach in the sun. But most of all, I want this-this day, this _thing_- to end." She finished. His stunned expression said nothing and everything simultaneously.

"That was not the answer I expected." He responded blankly, his usual baritone becoming smoky and thick. Spock could smell desire on her, but still, she was evading. "You are being most illogical."

"Oh sorry," She snapped. "I live to please my Vulcan husband." She threw herself back on the bed, mechanically opening her legs. "Satisfied?" Spock sat on the bed on the side nearest her head. His fingers gently soothed her scalp, smoothed her hair, as always.

"God." Lesley finally said, the word coming out on a whoosh of breath. "I'm being a fucking terrible bitch to you. Really." She gathered herself, crawled over to him and straddled his lap. He poked against her thigh and she peeled his shorts down, kissing him, feeling him sigh with relief.

Suddenly, Lesley was flipped onto her back and Spock was staring straight into her eyes, teasing her, refusing to enter. She moaned quietly in frustration, feeling his body up against hers, how he was broiling.

"Spock!" She cried, but a crafty smiled had worked its way onto his face.

_Perhaps you will learn not to lure me by withholding now, aduna. _He mentally responded. Lesley could only hold onto him and yell at him, he had her arms pinned to the bed, her lower body under him.

"Please! Just do it already!" She shouted, but still, he gently teased her, letting up on her restraint a little, his hands roving along the topography of her body; his head pressed into her chest, and she felt his forehead: positively burning, a nuclear core rod, his skin flushed a shade of green that would have been sickly on a human. An arrow of regret shot through her no matter how she tried to dodge it.

"Spock," Lesley said softly, and his dark eyes shot up to hers at the sound of her voice, making her internally shudder, both with pleasure and fear. She was a stimulus to him now, an important, addictive one, and she wasn't sure if she liked or disliked it. Her hands gathered his face to eye-level and rested on high cheekbones, feeling deliciously cool on his face. "You should've said something-"

"I tried to. You were being illogical." He stated coolly. There was a moment tense with anger, he had let his concentration lapse, and during that, Lesley had managed to flip him over and straddle him. Not that she did it completely on her own; he had some hand it. She decided to ignore his comment. It would be for the benefit of both of them if she did. She leaned over, lightly touching her lips to his, then drawing back, his face following up, wanting her. Icy hands traced an equally warm chest, and she slid onto him.

"Ashaya," He whispered, his eyelids fluttering, the word choked back and guttural. She took him to the hilt, wet and clinging, and remained there for a few moments, unsure. They hadn't tried it with her on top yet, he could be very domineering in the bedroom. His hands flew deftly to her hips, encouraging her, begging her to move, which she slowly took into consideration, feeling him throb inside of her. Lesley finally began to ride, starting slow, his hands rising up to the small of her back and making small crescents in the pale skin, and getting into a definite rhythm. She cast her eyes down to his face; his eyes were closed, his head strained back on the pillow, moaning low and roughly, mostly what she guessed were Vulcan expletives. His hands again found her hips, and a pulsing ecstasy was starting, he was tensing as well, about to—

There was a flurry of blankets and pillows and their choked-sounding breaths as Lesley's back made contact with the mattress. His head buried itself in her shoulder, kissing, biting, as he thrust deep and hard and fast, making her scream, grasping and pinning her hands over her head while she writhed, bucking her hips closer to him.

_Look at me, T'hy'la. _He demanded, and she opened her eyes to his piercing stare. Silence as the bodies simultaneously tensed and then the relief of complete release; he came in rope-like strings inside of her. Moans broke the preceding quiet, the cries and shattered bits of verbalization faded into the darkness of the room and they both succumbed to mutual exhaustion. Before she fell asleep, Lesley's hand passed over Spock's clammy forehead. The heat was leaving rapidly, returning to the normal temperature, leaving them sweat and sex-drenched and strangely gratified. They'd done it, they'd survived pon farr. Absence of light made the room purple, their blue-tinted bodies tangled together amidst the sheets and steady, whispering breaths. _It will be fine,_ Lesley thought, before falling asleep, feeling her husband's hand on her hip.


	16. Chapter 16

"Spock, I feel awful."

Lesley stared up at her husband ruefully from bed, feeling rolling nausea churn her stomach and coil her innards. He slowly turned back, looking to her, cocking his head in both concern and curiosity, then moving to the bedside.

"How so?" He asked, when a troubled look came across her face and she threw the blankets off of her, onto the floor, then raced to the bathroom. He heard her retch, dry-heave, and spit into the toilet. When she came out, her face was red and there were tears in her eyes from exertion.

"Go to sickbay. I'll tell Captain Kirk that you aren't well." He said, getting up, then gently cupping her face in a cool hand. She closed her eyes, wet eyelashes mashing together, and nodded, changing into something comfortable that wasn't her uniform; but rather, sweatpants and his old academy sweater. As soon as he left she plodded down to sickbay like a defeated cart horse.

"Well what's the matter with her?" Kirk asked. Spock simply shrugged, barely batting an eyelash, but burning up inside. The last thing he wanted it to be was another plague, from Lambda, which he calculated that it was at least a 5.679% chance of being.

"She complains of nausea, and won't eat anything, saying that she'll just vomit it up. It's been like this for a few days; however, it is only today that it has kept her from doing her duties." The Commander explained cooly, eyeing the Captain, who seemed to smirk a little.

"Hm." Jim said knowingly. "Must just be a little virus."

The time seemed to tick on and on while Lesley was in sick bay. Not that there were a lot of patients; it was just that everyone seemed to be caught off guard by someone coming in so early, seemingly before everyone was on their game. A few nurses smiled at her as they walked by with their scanners, but said nothing, only paging Dr. McCoy to "come quick!" She shivered, rubbing her clammy hands on her thighs. _It'll all work out. _She convinced herself, hoping that it wasn't some fatal incarnation of that little episode she had a few months ago. _It really isn't, _she thought to herself. _It can't be. _

The doctor burst through the small exam room door, obviously not under the influence of his morning coffee yet, still rubbing the little sleep he had gotten from his eyes.

"Dr. Ray, fancy meeting you here," He yawned, getting out his medical scanner and powering it up. He took one sip of his coffee, blinking, eyed the scanner. He suddenly stopped, swallowed, and set both the coffee and the scanner on the table.

"So," He said, pushing a laid-back demeanor, "been drinking lately at all? Smoking? Using any drugs?"

"Yeah, you know me," She said, managing to snort and pulling the pain in her stomach to the back of her mind. "I'm a regular crack addict."

"No, seriously." The doctor said, his tone growing more and more serious. Lesley noted this change and suddenly became uneasy. "Drinking, smoking, recreational drugs?" She shook her head no. "How about that blonde hair? That come in a bottle?" She shook her head no again, almost offended. She prided herself on her natural hair color. He sighed with notable relief.

"Why such questions?" She asked uneasily, having a feeling she knew where this was going. Lesley wasn't a stupid woman, and in fact, she was surprised that she hadn't put two and two together without even coming to sickbay. It all seemed to make sense now, Spock had his pon farr about three weeks ago, and her stomach was starting to hurt now, she was dry-heaving, having slight mood swings, her breasts were feeling tender and sore, and every day she would just get so worn out after the littlest things-

"You have a little Vulcan bun in the oven, Dr. Ray." McCoy said, tapping around on his PADD. "I'm going to give you some pre-natal vitamins to take, which will be a little difficult, given the child's condition-"

"_Condition_?" Lesley asked indignantly. "He's a quarter Vulcan. That's a fucking condition?"

"Hey, watch your mouth, _Mommy._ They're going to have some elevated copper levels is all, and we'll do monthly ultrasounds to make sure Junior here is developing correctly." McCoy said, smiling, and flipping open his communicator.

As always when his communicator beeped, Spock flipped it open so that the message could be heard by everyone in the room. Messages for him were rarely personal and involved the welfare of everyone on the ship. As far as he could see, there was no harm in it, even if the message was to be personal. The only ones in the navigation room with him were Kirk, Uhura, and Sulu.

"Commander, I have some exciting news for you."

It was the voice of the doctor, McCoy, the one who had diligently treated Lesley during her "episode." Against everything in his mind telling him to take it off of speaker, he decided to continue the conversation. Logic told him that exciting news was bound to boost crew morale, even if his emotions were very foreboding.

"And that is…?" Spock asked, raising an eyebrow minutely, almost as if he were having a face to face conversation. Perhaps the doctor had made a discovery regarding the biological aspect of the ongoing colonization effort.

"You're going to be a father."

All activity in the room stopped.

"What?" Spock asked, as if he simply hadn't heard the statement. Jim was staring at the Commander, mouth slightly agape, Uhura was rolling her eyes, and it seemed like Sulu could care less.

"Lesley's pregnant. Start passing out the cigars." McCoy informed him, and the Commander shook his head."

"You know very well that this ship is tobacco-free, Dr. McCoy. I do not see how rolled tobacco and pregnancy in humans correlate."

Jim could almost hear Bones shaking his head on the other end of the line.

"It's an antiquated Earth notion, Commander. Never mind. I have her on bed rest for the rest of the day, which was hard to persuade her to do, but after vomiting some ginger ale I made her drink she reluctantly agreed to do her work from bed with a PADD with a large bowl by her side. I have more patients to attend to." Bones said, not feeling up to making more conversation with anyone after that awkward encounter.

"Live long and prosper." Spock said, turning off his communicator. He'd screen the messages first from now on.

It had only been an hour, and Lesley had already started talking to her stomach.

"You're very naughty. Making Mommy throw up all the time." She said, looking down at what she hoped would grow to full term and become nice and round. "Now be good. This is a vitamin that helps you grow and get big and strong, like your Daddy." She secretly detested all the baby talk, but getting used to it now wouldn't be as bad as getting thrown into it nine months later.

The doors slid open and she downed her vitamin, willing herself not to throw up this time. Spock rushed into the room, stopping in front of her.

"T'hy'la." He said, cupping her jaw in both hands. She smiled up at him and made the classic kissy-face; he leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. "Don't go to the lab tomorrow. You lift too many things. It would be illogical. Send in your time card from your PADD and work from bed."

Lesley only sighed happily in response. It'd be better for her in bed, and if she could get away with doing most of her work from bed, she'd be a-okay.

"So I guess I have to order some maternity uniforms." She said, looking up at him through her eyelashes, giggling like a little girl. She patted her stomach, pleased. Spock would be an excellent father, she had faith in that.

_Thank you,_ he communicated, and she smiled at him wearily. She liked talking this way so much better. It was so much more intimate and close feeling. _But I doubt you'll need a uniform for pregnancy. You'll be doing most of your work from here now. I put in a maternity request, saying that under no circumstance shall you over-exert yourself. As you know, a human-Vulcan pregnancy can be dangerous…_

_ Oh please, Spock. _She retorted. _Your child is a quarter Vulcan. Even though those genes are dominant, I'm fairly sure that I can successfully carry your child. _He could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him and smiled.

_It is logical to be careful, especially with our child, my ashaya._

"I know." She finally said aloud. "I just feel a little useless." Being kept from her lab for nine months would be torture, and she wasn't sure she could stand it. Perhaps a cadet could come in and do all the lifting and physical movement for her; or she could use her projections of the bones. Too tired to think any longer, Lesley flopped down on her side of the bed, absolutely exhausted. It seemed that what was growing in her stomach was leeching all of the energy out of her and she had no chance at all to be a productive member of society.

"It is late, ashaya. We should be sleeping." Spock said, running his hand gently up and down her arm. She swallowed heavily.

"I can't. I tried to all day and I couldn't. I don't know. I just want to know what your father is going to think. I want him to be happy. I want _my mother_ to be happy, too, I guess. Maybe that they could bond over having a grandchild or something. I must sound so silly to you." Lesley said, suddenly finding herself cold and achy, curling up on her side and getting under the covers. Spock sidled next to her and wrapped an arm around her tired frame, nuzzling his nose into her warm neck.

"That's perfectly logical to want them to get along. I'm sure my father will be elated that you're going to have my child." He responded cooly, and felt her nod against him, but still feeling a simmering foreboding that seemed to sink down from her brain and settle right into the foetus growing inside her. She succumbed to sleep slowly, letting Spock ease her mind with his meditative state.

It wouldn't be easy.


End file.
